Finding Time
by SouthernChickie
Summary: NOW COMPLETE! Sequle to "16 Again". The MacLeod family moves to Rhode Island. Richie discovers some hidden talents, and Duncan discovers he's not the father he thought he was.
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimers: This is the sequel to "16 Again" which was inspired by Richiefic's "I Never Liked Art in High School". Very AU so please read "16 Again" before you get into this. And as always please review!  
  
AN: I had to wait for the server upgrades to finish, but since they are ready, I am ready. I hope you are!  
  
Finding Time  
  
"I look worse in green than I did in maroon," Richie complained looking at himself in the three-way mirror at the tailor's shop. He was getting his new school uniform fitted.  
  
"I think you look very nice," Tessa told him straightening the shoulders of his hunter green blazer. "This is a good color for you."  
  
"It makes me look sick; which I guess works."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Rhode Island Prep? R.I.P.? I sound like I should be dead."  
  
"Good." Duncan appeared in the mirror. "We'll bury you in this." He held up a black dinner jacket.  
  
Richie made a face. "What do I need that for?"  
  
"Tomorrow."  
  
"What's tomorrow?"  
  
"We're meeting Marcus and his family for dinner."  
  
"Is Marcus the new boss?" Richie asked.  
  
"Yes. And an old friend. He called as soon as he found out we were here and invited us to dinner."  
  
"And I need one of those?" Richie eyed the jacket. "Can I stay home?"  
  
"No," Tessa told him helping him out of his school jacket and into the one Duncan had picked out. The tailor started chalking the sleeves. Tessa stepped back and looked Richie up and down. "New pants, too," she decided.  
  
"We're going to be here all day," Richie grumbled.  
  
. . . . . .  
  
"Dad, I can't breathe!" Richie protested as Duncan straightened his tie for him.  
  
"Good, then you won't be doing much talking."  
  
"And the evil plan comes out."  
  
Duncan smiled. "Shut up and mind your manners."  
  
Richie smirked and yanked at the knot in his tie earning himself an exasperated, yet amused, look from Tessa as she moved in to readjust it. Duncan went to the hostess to see if Marcus and his family were at the restaurant yet. He gestured them to follow.  
  
"Now, Marcus has a daughter about your age, but she doesn't know about immortals so watch what you say," Tessa warned.  
  
"Okay," Richie shrugged yanking at the tie again.  
  
The hostess led them to a table where an average family of three sat.  
  
"MacLeod, good to see you," the man who Richie guessed was Marcus, said standing up slightly as they took their seats.  
  
"Good to see you, too, Marcus. How long has it been?" Duncan returned his greeting.  
  
"Too long, old man, too long." The woman next to Marcus cleared her throat. "Oh, yes darling I was just getting to that. This is my wife, Margot, and our daughter, Amber." They all murmured their 'nice to meet yous.'  
  
Duncan smiled. "So, Amber, your father, ow!" Tessa nudged him forcefully in the ribs. Duncan smiled and put his arm around her. "I almost forgot."  
  
"Purpose," Richie coughed into his napkin.  
  
"This lovely woman here is my wife, Tessa. And this, quickly becoming very obnoxious, boy is our son, Richie."  
  
"Well, Richie," Marcus smiled at him. "It's good to see MacLeod got stuck with somebody who can keep him on his toes."  
  
"I try my best," Richie assured him smiling back. He decided that he liked Marcus, and his wife and daughter, while quiet, weren't that bad to look at.  
  
"So, Amber," Duncan started again. "Your father says you're a senior at Rhode Island Prep."  
  
"Yes," she answered sweetly. "I'll be going to the University next fall."  
  
"Richie will be starting the prep school this semester," Tessa added.  
  
"What year?" Amber asked.  
  
"Junior."  
  
"Oh." She gave him a look that showed she clearly thought he was beneath her.  
  
"It's not my fault," he mumbled taking sip of his water.  
  
Duncan and Marcus happily chatted as did Tessa and Margot. Richie stared at the table and Amber huffed because she had to cancel a date to be there.  
  
"So, Amber," Tessa started when she noticed the teens were trying their hardest to ignore each other. "What are you going to study at the university?"  
  
"History," Amber answered sweetly. "Ancient. Perhaps I could get into one of your husband's classes."  
  
"What about you, Richie?" Margot asked. "Any plans for college?"  
  
"Not yet," he shrugged. "I'm still trying to decide."  
  
"You should get a move on," Amber told him. "Everyone at R.I. prep goes to college. It's a very academic school."  
  
"I never said I wasn't going," Richie told her. "I just said I hadn't decided."  
  
"Do you have any hobbies?" Margot asked.  
  
"Not really. School kinda eats up my time."  
  
"What about you, Amber?" Tessa asked. The mothers were clearly trying to find something for the children to talk about.  
  
"I dance, sing, shop, draw, write, and read. I love reading. Do you read, Richie?"  
  
Richie shifted in his seat. "Not really. I'm not into it." The truth was he had been reading all winter vacation so he would be caught up in his English class. He had been given three weeks to read "Kidnapped" and was barely going to make the dead line.  
  
The food came and Richie happily distracted himself eating. Amber went back to her huffing and the adults resumed their conversations.  
  
. . . . . .  
  
Richie stared blankly at the book in his hands. He had been reading for almost two hours and it was still a total mystery to him. Sighing he marked his place and closed the book. He rolled over on his bed and decided to hook up his new stereo and television.  
  
"No wonder you're having trouble getting the book done," Duncan commented in the doorway.  
  
"I'm just taking a break," Richie answered plugging his stereo speakers into the auxiliary ports on his TV.  
  
"Most people relax on breaks."  
  
"I've been sitting still hurting my brain for too long. I have to do something."  
  
"You're still supposed to be reading." Duncan picked up the discarded book to see how much progress Richie had made. "Looks like you're doing pretty good. Are you understanding it?"  
  
"The words are a little hard sometimes. They use, like, Scottish slang or something. The old stuff. How am I supposed to understand it?"  
  
Duncan smiled. "They use old Scottish slang? And you're having trouble understanding it. I wonder who could help. Maybe the four hundred year old Scot who lives downstairs?"  
  
Richie grinned self-consciously. "Why didn't I think of that?"  
  
"Because you got frustrated and gave up?" Duncan suggested handing the book over. "Start where you got confused."  
  
Richie took the book and sat next to Duncan on his bed. "'He struck the lad repeatedly,'" he started. "'Are you gone gyte?' he cried. 'Do you wish to hang your father?' See what I'm saying. What the hell does 'gyte' mean?" He looked at Duncan with a pointed expression.  
  
"Mad, crazy, loony, off the deep end. See where they're hiding the evidence and the kid starts burning these papers?" He proceeded to explain the scene paragraph by paragraph to Richie.  
  
"Why doesn't he just say that?" Richie asked. "Maybe if you wrote the book it would make more sense."  
  
"Or if you would just ask for help when you need it. There's nothing wrong with not understanding. It's the pretending part that hurts your grades."  
  
They sat side by side until dinner and slowly worked their way though the book. Duncan figured a few more nights like this and Richie would have the book done and be ready for any pop-quiz the teacher might throw at him.  
  
They spent the rest of Richie's vacation unpacking, painting, and quizzing Richie over what he read the nights before.  
  
"See, you'll be fine," Duncan assured him after he answered all his questions correctly the night before school started.  
  
"I hate changing schools in the middle of the year," Richie complained as the loaded the dishwasher.  
  
"Did you do that a lot growing up?" Tessa asked.  
  
"Yeah, I've been to every public school in Seacouver save one high school. I dropped out before they tried to transfer me."  
  
"Are you serious?" She had seen Richie's records but had concentrated more on the grades than the schools. And judging by the look on Duncan's face he had done the same.  
  
"It's kinda typical the way I grew up. All my friends did it too."  
  
"That had to have been hard on you," Duncan commented. Until Richie mentioned it, he hadn't given a second thought to changing his school. So much for giving the boy the stability he never had growing up.  
  
"Eh," Richie shrugged it off. "You get used to it. You don't have to feel bad about it," he added sensing Duncan's sudden guilt. "I mean, this is the last time right?" He offered a smile. "It's Rhode Island Prep from here on out. A whole year an'a half. Almost a record."  
  
"What is your record?" Tessa asked.  
  
"6 weeks short of two years," Richie announced. "Longer than any of my friends," he added proudly as if it was all some sort of contest.  
  
"They wouldn't let you keep your school for the last six weeks?"  
  
"It wasn't the end of the year," Richie explained. "Middle of the semester. And besides, I moved across town; it would have been a real pain to keep going there."  
  
"But still," she protested.  
  
"Mom, it's no big. I was like, ten. I'm way over it."  
  
. . . . . .  
  
After finally convincing Richie to go to bed Duncan and Tessa cuddled on the couch.  
  
"I hope we did the right thing moving him here," Duncan sighed.  
  
"He seems okay with it," Tessa said. "Besides, he decided to move; it was his decision."  
  
"I wonder if we should have stayed. He was so desperate to get away from who he was. He actually asked me if he could switch to being Joel permanently. He really is too young to make a decision like this. He moved across the country to get away from his past. It was a rash decision. We should have made him think about it more. Given him more time. What if he felt obligated to do it?"  
  
Tessa, who had been leaning against his chest, sat up and turned to face him. "Because of the adoption?"  
  
"What if he didn't want to insult us by not going along with it?"  
  
"Duncan, have you ever noticed how quickly he stopped calling us Mac and Tessa? How happy he was when we told him what he had done? He cried because he was happy. He's away from what happened to him; he can pretend it never happened. Nobody knows about it but us. I'm sure he likes it here. It's not too different from Washington. He doesn't have to keep track of who he's supposed to be and how old he is anymore. He's himself again."  
  
"I suppose you're right." For a minute they sat in the comfortable silence that came with thirteen years of being together. "Have you noticed he was more mature when he was pretending to be eighteen than he is now that he really is?"  
  
Tessa just laughed and kissed him.  
  
. . . . . .  
  
"Get up!" Tessa chirped happily turning on the lights in Richie's room. Something that could have been 'Go away' came from the tangle of limbs and blankets on the bed. "Time for school." She got Richie's uniform out of his closet and draped it over his chair. "I told you not to stay up so late last night," she chided. Richie had talked them into revoking his bedtime and a few of the other rules he had decided he was too old for.  
  
"Mustamahur," Richie slurred covering his eyes to block out the light.  
  
"You're stomach does not hurt," Tessa told him. "You're just stalling. Get up or I'll send Duncan up here to sing to you." It was a threat they had only had to carry out once.  
  
"Fine," Richie groaned struggling to sit up. "The last thing I want is the strangled goat in here."  
  
Tessa smiled. "Be down in twenty minutes or he will be."  
  
Duncan stood at the base of the stairs looking for any signs of life from Richie's room. They had given Richie the entire second floor to himself since the master suite was downstairs. He had picked the largest room as his bedroom and a second room was his office of sorts and contained everything he might need to do his homework. The third and smallest room he had yet to decide what to do with.  
  
"Come on, Rich!" Duncan called. "You have five minutes!"  
  
There was a painful sounding thud as, presumably, Richie rolled out of bed and onto the floor.  
  
Upstairs Richie hurriedly untangled himself from his bedclothes and got dressed trying to keep himself out of the cold air as much as possible. He reached behind his window blinds and put his hand on the glass to check the outside temperature. It was freezing. He decided to skip the blazer and went with a thick wooly school distributed sweater. He pulled it over his head and looked at himself in the mirror.  
  
"You look like a dork," he told his reflection. He opened his closet and surveyed his options. His only choices were what he was wearing, a sweater vest, or a Mr. Rogers-worthy cardigan, all of which he had to wear over his oxford shirt and black tie. "So the options are geek, nerd, and dork. looks like you're stuck." He sighed and looked in the mirror again. "I guess it's not that bad. At least you have options here." At St. Matthew's Academy, his only choice had been which shirt to wear: the really itchy starchy clean one or the less itchy starchy one that he had worn the day before. "And hey, bonus they have casual Fridays too."  
  
"Giving yourself a pep talk?" Duncan asked from the door with an amused smile.  
  
"Trying to convince myself I don't look as stupid as I think." Richie turned to face Duncan and get his opinion.  
  
"Not really your style is it?"  
  
"See, I look stupid!" Richie turned back to the mirror.  
  
Duncan moved behind him and put his hands on his shoulders. "I'm just not used to seeing you like this," he tried to take the unintentional insult back. He could see Richie's insecurities surfacing. "It doesn't look bad. just new."  
  
Richie's eyes met his in the mirror. "So I don't look as stupid as I think?"  
  
"Not nearly."  
  
Richie gave himself one last look before turning to get his bag. "Not like there's anything I can do about it anyway."  
  
Because of limited parking the school only allowed seniors to drive. So, since Duncan only had three classes this semester, he drove Richie to school and afterward Richie would walk the five blocks to the university and do his homework in Duncan's office until they could go home.  
  
"You're sure you're okay to walk?" Duncan asked pulling to a stop in front of Rhode Island Prep.  
  
"It'll be warmer this afternoon. I'll be fine," Richie insisted.  
  
"You know my office number in case you change your mind right?"  
  
Richie rolled his eyes. "I'm perfectly capable of walking."  
  
"Just in case. If you decide it's too cold, or you're tired, or you just don't."  
  
"Dad!" Richie groaned opening the car door and getting out.  
  
"If you change your mind, just call!" Duncan yelled after him.  
  
Richie acknowledged him with a wave of his hand before disappearing into the sea of students. 


	2. ch 2

Richie tried the combination on his locker for the third time as he juggled the mountain of books that had been waiting for him in the office.  
  
"Need some help?" a dark haired girl asked flashing him a smile that made Richie weak at the knees. He smiled back and didn't answer. She giggled a little. "Here, let me take those." She took his books. He just kept smiling. "You want to try that combo, now?" She nudged him and he seemed to snap out of his stupor.  
  
"Oh, right," he blushed and turned his stare to the locker. After a few more tries he got it to open. "Thanks," he mumbled not wanting to risk saying something stupid by talking too much.  
  
"You should really paper that," the girl told him.  
  
"What does that mean?"  
  
"Like this, you mind?" She ripped a small piece of paper out of his notebook before handing his books back. She stuffed it in the locker door blocking the locking mechanism. "See?" she closed the door and opened it without the combination. "Everyone does it around here."  
  
"Stuff doesn't get stolen?" Richie asked impressed by the Rhode Islander's ingenuity.  
  
"People are honest around here," she told him. "I'm Ginger."  
  
Richie grinned. "As in Rodgers?"  
  
Ginger rolled her eyes. "Don't remind me."  
  
"I'm Richie," he grunted dropping the pile of books he had been holding into the locker before offering his hand.  
  
"As in Cunningham?" Ginger asked.  
  
"Real original," Richie drawled. "I've never heard that one before. Why don't you do a little song and dance routine for me?"  
  
"Can't sing and I have no rhythm. Fate's idea of a joke I'm sure. You're new right?"  
  
"Yeah. We just moved here."  
  
"Can I see your schedule?" she asked. "Where did you move here from, Richard Noel-MacLeod?" She read his name off his schedule.  
  
"Washington, Ginger Rodgers."  
  
"Ginger Bradley," she corrected handing his schedule back. "We have the same first period and lunch."  
  
"Really? I don't suppose you could at least point me in the right direction then."  
  
"I'll do you one better. Come with me to my locker and I'll take you myself."  
  
Richie followed Ginger to her locker and they chatted pleasantly all the way to history. They entered the room just before the tardy bell rang.  
  
"Everyone take a seat!" the teacher, a stout graying woman, ordered over the start of semester greetings. Ginger led Richie to a seat toward the back corner. "We will start with role call. Mary Adams?"  
  
"Here!"  
  
"Blake Christopher?"  
  
"Here!"  
  
And so she ran down the list. "Richard Nool-MacLeeod?" she stumbled over the name.  
  
Richie winced. "Noel-MacLeod," he corrected. "And I go by Richie."  
  
The teacher looked at Richie over her wire-rimmed glasses. "You're new," she said.  
  
Richie shifted in his seat. "Yeah."  
  
"Come up here." By this time the class, which had mostly been chatting quietly and half heartedly listening for their names, was staring as the unfamiliar blonde boy walked to the front of the room. "Face the class," the teacher, for the life of him Richie couldn't remember her name, instructed. "Introduce yourself."  
  
"Um, I'm Richie," he said then looked at her. A few girls in the front row giggled.  
  
"From," the teacher prompted.  
  
Richie turned to the class. "Washington." He turned back to the teacher.  
  
"DC?"  
  
Richie turned back to the class. "State." He turned back to the teacher who had caught onto his little game.  
  
"Why did you move here? How old are you? Do you have any siblings, hobbies, car?" she rattled off.  
  
Richie turned to the class grinning as they laughed. "My dad got a job at the university, 18, no, no, no, but I have a motorcycle." The class kept on laughing, louder as Richie answered each question until Richie's voice couldn't be heard over the noise.  
  
"That will be enough!" the teacher snapped at the class.  
  
"Yeah, you guys, settle down. I didn't say anything funny," Richie added.  
  
"Take your seat."  
  
"Gladly." Richie walked down the aisle and sat down whispering to Ginger: "Ten bucks says she never gets me up in front of the class again."  
  
Second period was cultural studies. Richie hadn't the faintest interest in the subject but it was the only class with room for him in it when they registered. For this role call you had to answer with what nationality your names, first and last, were.  
  
"Richard Noel-MacLeod?" the teacher called out with a smile.  
  
Richie frowned. "Um.Richard's English, I think.Noel is French, and MacLeod is Scottish," he answered feeling proud that he could answer when most of the class came from the country of 'I don't know'.  
  
"What generation?" the teacher asked.  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"What."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"What."  
  
Richie was at a loss. "Excuse me?"  
  
"That works as well," the teacher nodded.  
  
Richie paused a second. He was completely lost. "Huh?"  
  
"The correct response when you don't understand a question would be 'Excuse me?', 'I beg your pardon?', or at the very least, 'What?'. Never 'Huh?'."  
  
"Oh," Richie smiled. "Gotcha. what was the question again?"  
  
"What generation are you?"  
  
"Um. I don't understand the question?" Richie tried still a little dizzy from the last go round.  
  
"How many generations has your family been in America," the teacher clarified with a smile as he leaned back against his desk.  
  
"Oh, okay. Um. I'm the first born in America," he answered. "So I guess that makes me first generation."  
  
"Correct. Which parent is from where?"  
  
"My mom's from Paris and my dad's from Glen Finanana. something or another. I can't pronounce it. I can barely understand him when he says it."  
  
"Glen Finnan?" the teacher supplied.  
  
"Sure why not?"  
  
"When was he born? I have a cousin from there."  
  
"1592," Richie answered promptly. It took him a second to realize why the class was giving him such strange looks. "Uh. 1952," he corrected blushing. "Lysdexia that darn," he grinned under his breath.  
  
"Well, now that we have that cleared up. Sara McCloud?" Upon hearing the name Richie perked up a bit.  
  
"Hebrew and Irish," Sara answered.  
  
Richie furrowed his brow. He made a metal note to ask Duncan about it later.  
  
After third period Richie met Ginger by his locker and they went to lunch together where she introduced him to her friends.  
  
"You're the huh? Guy from my second period!" a boy named Nathan exclaimed. "The French dude!"  
  
"I'm American," Richie corrected. "Born and raised. But, yeah that's me."  
  
"You don't play baseball do you?" Nathan asked.  
  
"Oh, honestly," Ginger groaned. "He asks that to every guy he sees that isn't already on the team."  
  
"Yeah, I play. Haven't in a while though. Why?" Richie took a bite of his soft taco then opened it to pick out the beans.  
  
"We could use some more players, if you're interested."  
  
Richie shrugged. "I probably have to ask my dad. He's kinda weird about stuff like that."  
  
"Cool."  
  
"Are you guys going to do the cultural fair?" Ginger asked changing the subject when someone put a flyer on their table.  
  
"What's that?" Richie asked once again biting into this taco and making a face as he chewed on an elusive bean that he missed.  
  
"School is cancelled for the day and your teachers give you extra credit for going to the fair and even more credit if you participate."  
  
"What do you have to do?"  
  
"Make a dish or dress up in a traditional costume and bring it to school," Nathan explained.  
  
Richie thought about this. Tessa loved helping him cook. "Can I have that?" he asked gesturing to the flyer.  
  
"Sure." Ginger handed it over.  
  
. . . . . .  
  
The teacher looked up as Richie opened the classroom door.  
  
"Sorry, got lost," Richie apologized.  
  
"You must be Noel-MacLeod."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"We were afraid that the hall goblins had gotten you," she smiled at him.  
  
Richie grinned; he was going to like English. "It was a close fight, but I showed 'em what's what."  
  
"Good for you. You can take a seat right over there." She pointed to an empty desk. Richie nodded and began to move. "But first," the teacher stopped him. "Why don't you tell us about yourself?"  
  
Richie made a face. "I was hoping you'd skip that part." He faced the class. "I'm Richie, I'm from Washington, we moved here because my dad got a job at the university, I'm an only child, eighteen, no hobbies, and I drive a motorcycle.when I'm not grounded." He turned to the teacher and flashed her a smile. "Did I forget anything?"  
  
"You seem well rehearsed."  
  
"This is sixth period," Richie pointed out. "I've been doing this all day."  
  
She smiled. "Good point. Let's begin; take your seat, Richard."  
  
"Richie," he automatically corrected.  
  
"Sorry. Richie, take your seat. Now, who read the Stevenson novel I assigned?" The class all raised their hands. "Who can explain the plot?" she asked knowingly. And just as she expected a few hands went down. "Who can tell me David's uncle's name?" A few more hands went down. "What is the name of the clan who's land David washed up on.Three people know? That's it? Three people."  
  
Abruptly Richie realized his hand was still up. 'Campbell,' he thought smiling to himself. 'I remember.'  
  
. . . . . .  
  
Walking across the university campus Richie stuffed his hands deeper in his coat pockets and hunched against the cold wind. "You should'a called," he told himself. He jogged the last twenty yards to the history building. He took the stairs to the third floor and made his way to Duncan's office. The door was slightly ajar so he just pushed it open and went in. Nobody was there. Richie took a seat behind Duncan's desk.  
  
"So this is what a professor's desk feels like," he mused to himself. After a couple minutes Duncan showed up.  
  
"Come on," he told him. "Get your stuff."  
  
"Going home already?" Richie asked picking up his bag.  
  
"No, I have a class."  
  
"And me, too, I'm guessing."  
  
"You got it." Duncan led him down the halls.  
  
"Man, I've been in classes all day," Richie mumbled.  
  
"It's only an hour and a half and you don't have to pay attention at all. You can sit in the back and do your homework."  
  
Duncan lectured in the front of the stadium style lecture hall about medieval armor and Richie sat in the last row eyes glazed over and about to fall asleep. Somebody said something funny that Richie didn't understand and the class laughed, waking him from his near nap. A couple minutes later something started tickling his nose and despite his best effort let out a very loud sneeze. The people in front of him jumped and a few more turned around. Richie blushed.  
  
"Bless you," Duncan said from the front of the room with a smile.  
  
"Thanks," Richie mumbled sinking in his chair.  
  
"That's the professor's kid," someone near him whispered. "I saw them coming into class."  
  
Richie was suddenly very aware of the Rhode Island Prep sweater he was wearing and how young he looked compared to the graduate level students. A whisper rippled to the front of the room and every few rows someone would look back at him. Richie felt the heat rise in his cheeks and he slumped farther down into the chair.  
  
Duncan stopped talking and got a very amused look on his face. "Since your attention has been lost I might as well join you before I bring you back. Yes, the boy in the back with the cold is my son. His name is Richie."  
  
Richie suddenly wanted very much to disappear as the boy next to him held up his hand and pointed down at the top of Richie's very noticeable curls.  
  
"He goes to."  
  
"R.I. Prep?" the boy next to Richie supplied poking at the patch on his sweater.  
  
"Yes. Any other questions?" A few hands went up. "I thought not. Now as I was saying solid armor."  
  
Richie dug a piece of paper and pencil out of his pocket and began doodling so he had something to concentrate on other than the curious glances that were coming his way.  
  
. . . . . .  
  
"Hard at work, I see." Richie looked up from the doodle that had become an elaborate sketch of his old school. He had been so absorbed in what he was doing he hadn't notice the class end. "Let me guess." Duncan picked up the paper. "Art homework?"  
  
"I don't have any homework," Richie told him. "I was just doodling."  
  
"That's quite a doodle," Duncan said handing the paper back. "I didn't know you could draw."  
  
"I'm not that good," Richie said folding the paper and putting it back in his pocket. "You should'a seen Natalie's stuff. She was great." He stood up and picked up his empty backpack. "I just do it when I'm bored."  
  
Duncan let the subject drop for the time being. "How was school?"  
  
"It was okay. My history teach is a major bore but everyone else seems pretty okay."  
  
"Make any friends?"  
  
Richie rolled his eyes as he followed Duncan down the halls. "Yeah. That reminds me can I go out for baseball?"  
  
Duncan chuckled. "That came out of nowhere."  
  
"Nathan asked me about it today at lunch. I told him I had to check."  
  
"Who's Nathan?"  
  
"Ginger's friend."  
  
Duncan grinned. "Who's Ginger?" He could see Richie nervously tug at a curl at the base of his neck out of the corner of his eye. "Are you going to tell me?"  
  
"Hey, I got a question," Richie changed the subject. "In cultural studies. which seems like it might be kinda cool. there was this girl something'er'other MacLeod, but she said it was Irish."  
  
"Then it's probably McCloud not MacLeod," Duncan explained. If anything Richie got more confused. "It's spelled differently."  
  
"Oh." Richie waited for Duncan to unlock the doors then got into the car. "And there's this other thing." Richie fumbled around trying to get the flyer out of his pocket but lost the fight to his seatbelt and coat, which were in the way. "Ah, I'll show you that later. It's a cultural fair at school. Students volunteer to make food from the countries where their families come from."  
  
"You want to make something Scottish?" Duncan asked trying to hide his pride and excitement.  
  
Richie shifted in his seat. "I was actually wondering if Mom had any recipes from her mother. but Scottish would be good, too. I just figured since Mom actually lived in France during this century that she might have something a little more modern to offer. No offence, but I don't think haggis would go over well with a bunch of teenagers."  
  
"Very true," Duncan nodded. "Why don't you ask when we get home." They rode the rest of the way in comfortable silence. 


	3. ch 3

AN: Now betaed!  
  
Richie sat at the kitchen table reading his English assignment to Tessa. They had found that he could understand better if he saw and heard things at the same time, so they had taken to listening to his reading assignments as he did them. He was so engrossed in Oliver Twist, that he didn't notice Duncan standing behind him mouthing something to Tessa. Only when something had been plopped on his head did he notice anything.  
  
"Um.'He has not peached so far, said the Jew as he pursued his occupation'." He read as he took the hat off his head. "'If he. if he means to blab us among his new friends, we my stop his mouth yet.' And that's it!" he announced closing his book. "What the hell is that?" he asked looking at the hat more closely now.  
  
"Watch your language," Duncan told him. "Did you understand it all?"  
  
"What does he mean 'he has not peached'?"  
  
"Hasn't ratted them out," Duncan explained.  
  
"Oh. so what the heck is this?" Richie asked picking the hat up. If reminded him somewhat of a golfer's hat. It was round and floppy with a little poof of something on top.  
  
"It's a hat," Duncan told him.  
  
"Please tell me you didn't buy this for me," Richie said. "Cause I'm not wearing it."  
  
"Don't be stupid, of course I didn't buy it," Duncan laughed. "My mother made it."  
  
"This is yours?" Richie asked looking at the hat in question a little more closely.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Put it on!" Richie told him handing the hat over. Duncan did and Richie laughed. "You look like an idiot!"  
  
"I know, that's why I never wore it," Duncan explained fitting it onto Richie's head again. "You, on the other hand. you can pull it off."  
  
Richie gave him a doubtful look and went to the bathroom to look at himself in the mirror. "I look like one of those Scottie dogs you see in cartoons!" he exclaimed.  
  
"You look Scottish," Duncan told him.  
  
"Mom?" Richie asked her opinion.  
  
"You look adorable!" she told him kissing him on the cheek. "Like Highland warrior."  
  
"I'm sure the warriors all wore Scottie dog hats," Richie said rolling his eyes.  
  
"They did. Where do you think the cartoons got the idea? It was so we could easily identify an allied clan in battle."  
  
"I thought that was what the tartans were for." Richie gave him a confused look.  
  
"But you could look above the heads of the enemy and see the hats."  
  
"Oh. So why are you showing this to me? An impromptu history lesson?"  
  
"Spell impromptu," Tessa told him. It was her new teaching technique. If she ever caught Richie using a big word, she would quiz him on the spelling.  
  
"I-N-P-R-O-M-P-T-O?" Richie guessed. Tessa shook her head. "Was I close?" he asked.  
  
"Listen to the word: impromptu."  
  
"I-M?" Duncan nodded. "P-R-M-O-P-T-U?"  
  
"You switched the M and O, but otherwise you were right," Duncan told him.  
  
"I still got it wrong," Richie mumbled. "But you never answered my question. What's with the hat?"  
  
"I wanted to see how it looked on you," he shrugged.  
  
"And what prompted this?"  
  
"This." Tessa handed Richie the folded up paper that he had done his St. Matthew's sketch on a few weeks ago.  
  
"What does this have to do. Oh," Richie stopped when he flipped the paper over. He had doodled on the cultural fair flyer.  
  
"Why didn't you say anything about the costumes?" Duncan asked.  
  
"Um. I dunno."  
  
"You don't know?"  
  
"Maybe I was afraid you'd do this to me," Richie admitted pointing at the hat still on his head.  
  
"But you look so good in blue," Tessa told him.  
  
"And I look stupid in skirts."  
  
"How would you know?" Duncan asked.  
  
"What? Haven't you ever heard of Halloween?"  
  
"So you'll do it?" he asked hopefully.  
  
"No. There is no way you're getting me to wear a skirt to school. Ever."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Because I just transferred here. My reputation is still in the making. I'm not about to ruin all that by wearing a skirt to school!"  
  
"It's not a skirt, it's a kilt."  
  
"It's not pants and that's all I care about," Richie insisted crossing his arms over his chest.  
  
"At least try it on," Duncan suggested.  
  
"First off, no. Second off, even if I did consider it, it's yours. It's gonna be way huge!"  
  
. . . . . .  
  
"I can't believe this," Richie groaned looking at himself in the full- length mirror in Duncan and Tessa's room. "You made it fit."  
  
Duncan smiled proudly from behind him. "Of course I did. And you look great."  
  
"You fought in this?"  
  
"No, don't be daft," Duncan said slipping into his accent.  
  
"Oh, well then, I won't," Richie imitated back.  
  
"You're pretty good at that," Duncan smiled at Richie's accent. "This is a dress kilt," he explained fastening the sporran around Richie's waist. He straightened the stockings that came up to just below Richie's knees. "There we go, and the bonnet of course."  
  
"Bonnet?!" Richie repeated.  
  
"The hat," Duncan translated with a smile putting it on the boy's head.  
  
Richie fidgeted with the plaid Duncan had fastened to his left shoulder with a gold broach. "This is weird."  
  
"Go you show your mom," Duncan instructed giving Richie a slight swat on the butt. He followed Richie down the hall and to the kitchen where Tessa was looking through her recipes for something the boy could make for the fair.  
  
"Oh!" Tessa squealed dropping the recipe cards she was holding and going to him. "You look wonderful!" She fussed with all the different pieces for a few seconds. "From the hat to the shoes!" she giggled.  
  
"They're not shoes, they're brogues," Richie told her. "And it's a bonnet," he added.  
  
"Oh, well pardon me. From the bonnet to the brogues," she corrected. "You still look adorable. You were meant to be a MacLeod," she told him. "It's like the colors were made for you."  
  
"I really don't look that bad?" Richie asked skeptically. "It's not too big or anything?"  
  
"No, it fits you perfectly. Just like it was made." she trailed off.  
  
"Just like it was made for me," Richie agreed, not noticing anything strange. "It's kinda weird. I mean, being Dad's and all I thought this was going to be huge. But it's actually not that bad. It's a little hot, but the school is usually kinda cold so I."  
  
"You'll wear it?" Duncan cut in.  
  
"Yeah, I guess so. It's kinda cool. and I have to admit. well, you know," he blushed a little.  
  
"It's nice to have a clan to belong to?" Tessa supplied.  
  
Richie looked down at his brogues and messed with his sporran. "Yeah."  
  
"Well, lets get you changed out of that so you don't spill anything on it at dinner," Duncan suggested, guiding Richie back to the bedroom.  
  
A few minutes later Richie once again entered the kitchen; this time he was dressed in his usual jeans and T-shirt. "Speaking of dinner, what are we having?" he asked.  
  
"I thought we'd make some stir-fry," Tessa told him. "Does that sound good?"  
  
"Everything sounds good, I'm starved," Richie told her.  
  
"Long day at school?"  
  
"Yeah. I thought Chemistry was never going to end today," he complained.  
  
"Well, you go get the chicken out of the freezer and you can tell us all about it at dinner."  
  
"Okay," he shrugged, going to get the chicken from the freezer in the garage.  
  
"Are you ever going to tell him?" she asked Duncan who was standing in the doorway.  
  
"Tell him what?" he asked innocently.  
  
"That you had that made for him."  
  
"I didn't."  
  
"Duncan, he thinks that's yours."  
  
"It was."  
  
"It's too small to be yours," she insisted.  
  
"Now it is, but not when I was his age."  
  
"You had something that nice when you were his age?"  
  
"I was the chieftain's son," he reminded her. "Of course. I went to all sorts of parties and meetings with him. He was training me."  
  
"That's really yours?"  
  
"Yes. And to answer your next question a sympathetic clans-woman snuck it to me after my father banished me. Connor kept it and I had him send it to the university last week. come to think of it, that might be his shirt."  
  
"It fits him perfectly. Even the shoes."  
  
"Okay, you caught me," Duncan yielded. "I bought the shoes and the broach."  
  
"But the rest is yours?"  
  
"Was mine. It's his now."  
  
"It's mine?" Richie asked coming back into the kitchen.  
  
"I want to take you to Scotland," Duncan told him. "You might need it. There's still room for you to grow in it; I had to make a few adjustments for you now. What do you say? Do you want it?"  
  
"Yeah, cool. Thanks, Dad," he smiled brightly, giving Tessa the package he was holding and giving Duncan a hug. "This is awesome."  
  
"You're welcome, tough guy," Duncan answered. It still made him smile whenever Richie instigated such an intimate gesture.  
  
"What's this?" Tessa asked opening the package Riche had given her.  
  
"Shrimp," he answered.  
  
"Is this your subtle way of changing the menu?"  
  
"It's my way of asking?" he offered.  
  
"I don't know. I'm feeling a little left out at the moment," she hinted.  
  
Richie rolled his eyes and hugged her too. "That better?" he asked.  
  
"I don't know," she continued.  
  
Duncan stepped between the two and leaned in close to her. "I want shrimp, too," he smiled.  
  
"I don't think that's what she was going for," Richie hinted with a smile.  
  
"He's right, you know," Tessa added. Duncan pulled her into a tight embrace and kissed her deeply.  
  
After nearly a minute, Richie sighed and rolled his eyes. "I'll start dinner."  
  
Richie started the wok and after a few minutes, Tessa tore herself away from Duncan and told Richie what to do. She had slowly been teaching him how to cook. Once everyone was seated and served they began discussing upcoming events.  
  
"Um." Richie thought hard when asked what was about to happen at school. "Well, I got a Pre-Calc test on Friday; the fair is the Thursday after that and that Friday is baseball tryouts."  
  
"Baseball tryouts?" Duncan repeated.  
  
"Oh, yeah. Can I try out for baseball next year?"  
  
"But you said tryouts were in two weeks," Tessa teased. "Which is it?"  
  
"Tryouts are this year to be on the team next year," Richie explained. "So can I?"  
  
"I didn't even know you played," Duncan said.  
  
"I haven't in a while. But I was pretty good when I did. I played on the school team in High School until I dropped out. So can I?"  
  
"I don't see why not," Duncan shrugged. "What do you think, Tessa?"  
  
"You will keep your grades up?" she asked Richie.  
  
"Uh-huh, I have to anyway; no pass, no play."  
  
"Then I don't see any reason you shouldn't try out."  
  
Richie smiled broadly for the second time that night. "Thanks! I gotta call Nathan and tell him!"  
  
"You have to finish your dinner," Tessa corrected.  
  
"And the dishes," Duncan added.  
  
"Then I can call?"  
  
"Then you can call."  
  
Richie looked down at his plate with great enthusiasm and finished his food in three bites. "Done!" he announced, still chewing on the last bite.  
  
"Sit," Tessa instructed. "It's only seven; you have plenty of time to gab on the phone like a couple girls later. Tell us about the team."  
  
Richie sat and talked while Duncan and Tessa ate. Once they were done, Richie did the dishes and ran to the phone. He and Nathan talked for ten minutes before they hung up.  
  
"See, we don't gab like girls," he told Tessa pointedly.  
  
"Sure you don't," she agreed. "Now come look at these recipes and decide what you want to make for Thursday."  
  
Richie and Tessa went over her ideas and finally decided on crème brulee. That Saturday, Richie would make a practice batch to make sure he could do it on his own. The rules specifically stated that the students must make the food by themselves; so Tessa couldn't help him. He got into bed that night and stared at the kilt and plaid handing on his door until he fell asleep. That night he dreamed he was the chieftain's son fighting in a Highland battle. His clan won. 


	4. ch 4

Richie looked at Duncan and Tessa from across the kitchen table. Neither one said anything. He sat quietly picking at his fingernail, waiting for someone to say something. It was the silence that made him nervous.  
  
"Richie." Duncan started.  
  
"Yeah, I know," Richie sighed, not giving him a chance to finish.  
  
"Know what?" Duncan asked, casting Tessa an amused look.  
  
"It sucks, right?"  
  
"Actually, I was going to ask if there was any more."  
  
Richie perked up considerably. "Really? You liked it?"  
  
Tessa smiled and held up her empty bowl. "It was wonderful. Is there any more?"  
  
"Yeah!" Richie jumped from his seat, took their empty bowls, and went into the kitchen. "You guys really liked it?" he asked, handing them each a new crème brulee.  
  
"Yes, Richie," Tessa assured him.  
  
"You're not just saying that? 'Cause I gotta take this stuff to school. Like, my friends are gonna eat this stuff. So if there's anything wrong with it, you really need to say something, okay? Like, seriously. Are they okay?"  
  
"You did a great job, Rich," Duncan smiled. "Like, seriously," he added.  
  
Richie looked at Tessa who nodded. Finally, he seemed convinced. His worried expression vanished and was replaced with a magnanimous smile. "Well, cool then."  
  
"Did you have any problems?" Tessa asked.  
  
"No," Richie answered quickly. Then he amended, "Well, uh, there was this one insy-wincy, um. fire, but I ."  
  
"Fire!" Duncan and Tessa repeated together.  
  
"Well, yeah, but I totally got it under control."  
  
"Fire?"  
  
"Just a little one."  
  
"Fire?"  
  
"But I took care of it."  
  
"Fire?"  
  
"Well, yeah, but."  
  
"A FIRE?"  
  
"I think we've established that part."  
  
"What happened?" Duncan asked.  
  
"I, uh, dropped a dish towel on the stove and it. well, you know that part. But I took care of it."  
  
"Did you burn yourself?" Tessa asked.  
  
"No. well, I did, but not 'cause of that. I did before."  
  
"I thought I smelled charred flesh," Duncan mumbled.  
  
"Funny, Dad," Richie scowled. "But to the serious stuff. I'm not going to poison people with those, right?"  
  
. . . . . .  
  
"Okay, I need a list of all who plan on participation in the fair tomorrow," Richie's first period history teacher announced Wednesday morning. "So, hands up people!" The entire class raised their hands. "Everybody? Very good," the teacher smiled. "Now, who's only cooking?" Most of the hands stayed up as the teacher jotted down the names. "Who has only a costume?" No hands. "And what brave souls are doing both?" Richie's hand along with three others went up. "Very nice. Do any of you care to share?" All the hands went down. "Richie, what will you be wearing tomorrow?"  
  
"Why me?" Richie demanded, looking to his left at Ginger.  
  
"Because you like to be the entertainment," the teacher answered, remembering Richie's first day in her class.  
  
"Well, uh, let's just say I'm half Scottish and leave it at that," he offered.  
  
"Well, I'll just say I hope the wind cooperates and leave it at that," the teacher smiled back. Richie decided long ago that this elderly woman had been easily swayed by his charms and loved his constant interruptions.  
  
"See, you just ruined it!" Richie complained as the class started to laugh and whistle. "I was trying to be subtle."  
  
"You, Mr. Noel-MacLeod, are never subtle."  
  
. . . . . .  
  
"You are one brave dude," Nathan told him that day at lunch. "I wouldn't be caught dead wearing a skirt in public."  
  
"It's a kilt," Richie corrected. "And my parents are making me." Richie had made it very clear to Duncan and Tessa that if anyone asked; it was not his idea to do this. "I don't have a choice." He picked at the taco salad on his tray.  
  
"So change when you get here," Nathan suggested picking olives off his salad.  
  
"And then I won't get the credit and my parents will notice and be all over me about it. It's only one day; I'll live."  
  
"What are you making?" Ginger changed the subject.  
  
"Crème brulee. What about you?"  
  
"Fish. My mom's Irish. Nathan?"  
  
"Biscuits and gravy; Good ol' down south cookin'. Shawna's bringing enchiladas."  
  
"Shawna's bringing enchiladas," Ginger sing-songed back. Shawna was Nathan's newest infatuation. "What is Shawna wearing today?"  
  
"Same thing as you. and every other girl at this school," Nathan shot back.  
  
"How embarrassing!" Richie gasped. "How can you stand dressing just like everyone else?"  
  
"Shut up!" Ginger laughed, swatting at his shoulder.  
  
"So you're still trying out for baseball, right? I mean, you haven't changed your mind or anything.." Nathan asked worriedly.  
  
"Not yet, but I'm starting to wonder if I should. Is the coach a jerk or something?"  
  
"No, no. just we barely have enough people trying out to make a cut list. You're probably guaranteed a spot. What position do you play?"  
  
"Outfield mostly; I pitch a little, too," he shrugged.  
  
"You'd be set if you played catcher. we need a good catcher."  
  
"I've been catcher a little."  
  
"Can we change the subject?" Ginger cut in.  
  
"Try out for catcher," Nathan told Richie ignoring Ginger's request.  
  
"You guys!"  
  
"Everyone tries out for pitcher or outfield."  
  
"Do you mind?"  
  
"Does." Richie started to ask.  
  
Ginger clamped her hand over his mouth. "Don't encourage him."  
  
"I was going to say," Richie said moving her hand away. "Does anyone think these salads are as gross as I do?"  
  
"Yeah," Nathan agreed pushing his away. "Tacos are healthy enough without making them into salads."  
  
"Seniors have it made," Ginger added. "Off campus lunch."  
  
"Hey, that's us next year," Richie reminded her.  
  
"What I wouldn't give, to go to Study Hall right now," she continued.  
  
"Me, too," Nathan agreed.  
  
"Study Hall?" Richie repeated. "Did I miss something here? Why would you want to spend the hour we have away from teachers in study hall?"  
  
Nathan laughed. "It's got the best pizza in town and it's a practically adult free zone."  
  
"It's a restaurant?"  
  
"Yeah. You guys wanna go this Friday?" Ginger asked. "It's R.I. Prep night."  
  
"I'm in. maybe Shawna, too," Nathan agreed. "What about you, Rich?"  
  
"Um. okay. what's R.I. Prep night?"  
  
. . . . . .  
  
"I can't believe I'm doing this," Richie groaned, as Duncan fastened the plaid to his shoulder Thursday morning.  
  
Duncan smiled. "You're the one who agreed to do this. not that you'll admit it in public."  
  
"Me an' my big mouth."  
  
"You and your big mouth," Tessa agreed. "You look very cute. Now hold still; I want a picture." She held up the camera.  
  
"Oh, no." Richie ducked behind Duncan. "First off, I don't do pictures in general. Second off there is no way I'm leaving proof that I did this."  
  
"You don't think you're going to make the yearbook like that?" Duncan asked.  
  
Richie's face paled. "I didn't think about that. You don't think so. do you?"  
  
"I think you're centerfold material," he told him.  
  
"That is wrong on so many different levels."  
  
"What?" Duncan asked. "I happen to think you are a very nice looking young man."  
  
"Save it for your wife," Richie grinned. "What time is it?"  
  
"Time for you to find your watch," Duncan answered.  
  
"I know where my watch is," he insisted. "I just don't think it goes." He gestured to his current ancient attire.  
  
"Good point," Duncan smiled. "Let Tessa take your picture, then we'll go."  
  
Rolling his eyes, Richie stepped out from behind Duncan. "Fine."  
  
"Not here," Tessa told him.  
  
She led Richie into the back yard and positioned him in front of the bushes for a more 'authentic' look. Duncan came out a few seconds later with a long Celtic sword to complete the outfit. He stuck the tip of the blade in the ground and posed Richie grasping the sword with his left hand on the hilt, his right hand on his hip, looking slightly left of the camera.  
  
"Chin up, chest out," he muttered fixing the bonnet.  
  
"It's as out as it will go," Richie told him.  
  
"How's that look?" Duncan asked Tessa.  
  
"Perfect," she answered.  
  
Duncan stepped out of the shot. "Look serious, don't smile," he instructed.  
  
Richie posed and Tessa took the picture. "He looks like he's posed for a painting," she told Duncan. "Okay, one more," she told Richie.  
  
Richie groaned and rolled his eyes. She busied herself taking pictures. Richie with his arms crossed and trying his best to look intimidating. Richie kneeling behind the sword with his hands on the hilt and his chin resting on his hands with a smirk. She decided to zoom in on just his face for that one. Richie holding up the sword with a cocky grin. Richie hands on hips, in what he called the 'Peter Pan' pose. And finally Richie pouting because she kept saying one more every time she came up with an idea.  
  
. . . . . .  
  
Richie walked into his first period class to check in and prove he was in costume.  
  
"Richie, you look wonderful!" the teacher exclaimed looking him up and down.  
  
"Thanks," he answered.  
  
"Okay, you have your credit, now go show your other teachers so they can give you credit too."  
  
Richie walked through his schedule, stopping in each room to be admired and whispered about. Finally, he made it to the gym where the start of fair assembly was being held. He found Ginger and Nathan and slid into the seat they had saved for him.  
  
"Oh, my gosh," Nathan drawled looking at Richie. "I can't believe you're wearing that."  
  
"My teachers like it," Richie shrugged.  
  
"But still!"  
  
"I think you look kinda cool," Ginger cut in. "It takes a certain kind of man to pull off a kilt. although the hat.."  
  
"It's part of the outfit," Richie told her still grinning from her calling him a man.  
  
The head master rattled on for twenty minutes about how the students were expected to conduct themselves; no making fun of another country. After all very few people are true Americans; nearly everyone's ancestors immigrated at some point. And they were reminded to cast their votes for favorite dish at every country they visited. Finally, the students were allowed to visit the various counties that were being represented by booths set up by parents and teachers.  
  
"Where do you want to go first?" Richie asked, as they wondered out into the halls.  
  
"Shawna's in Mexico," Nathan hinted.  
  
"Fine, we'll go get Shawna," Ginger laughed. "I swear could you be any more in love with the girl?"  
  
They went up to the second floor where Mexico was displayed along the back hallway. They found Shawna and sampled the foods. Nathan dared Richie to eat a jablano pepper that sent Richie running to the nearest water fountain. They made their way down the corridor to France where Richie dared Nathan to eat a snail in garlic sauce. Nathan offered Richie ten bucks to eat one instead; Richie ate three.  
  
"My mom makes them," he explained at the horrified looks he got. Then he picked up three servings of crème brulee. "Try it," he encouraged. "It's a snail free desert." Everyone liked it and snuck another despite the reminders that you only got one sample per item. The teacher working the booth almost looked grateful when Richie took some of the snails off the tray and didn't try to stop him as he grabbed some more before they headed to the next country.  
  
They made their way through Spain and Italy and were still snacking on meatballs when they got to Ireland.  
  
"Here's my fish," Ginger announced proudly.  
  
Richie took a sample and choked down the bitter fish. "Not bad," he commented politely.  
  
Nathan took some. "Um. unique flavor."  
  
Shawna took a bite. "Girl, whoever gave you this recipe, should be shot!" she laughed throwing the rest of her sample into the trash.  
  
Ginger smiled broadly. "I know, isn't it horrible?"  
  
Richie and Nathan exchanged a look. "You could have warned us," Nathan told her.  
  
Next they went to England and had some chips. Then onto Germany where they got mini bratwursts. Then they made it to Scotland. Loud bagpipe music was playing from a stereo under a table. Nathan and Ginger complained about the noise, Shawna seemed indifferent, and Richie hummed along.  
  
"Five bonus point to whoever can name this song!" the teacher behind the table called out.  
  
"The Battle Cry of Killecrankie!" Richie called over the music.  
  
"Very good, come claim your prize, lad!" the teacher called back. Richie worked through the small crowd that had inexplicably gathered at the display and got a certificate good for five extra points on any quiz for any class. He noticed that there was a TV showing a video of the Scottish games and that was what had drawn the crowd.  
  
At one o'clock the favorite food ballots were taken away to be counted and the teachers were to cast their votes for the various costume categories. The students were all ordered to the auditorium to be watched by the parent volunteers while the votes were counted.  
  
"How come your parents aren't here?" Shawna asked Richie.  
  
"I transferred too late. They want to do it next year."  
  
"I must get the name of your tailor!" A girl from Richie's chemistry class joked as she walked past him.  
  
"Obviously!" he yelled after her. She turned around and pretended to be hurt but broke into a grin before waving at him.  
  
"Oh, my God," a voice snickered from behind him. Richie turned around and found himself face to face with Amber. "You know what?" she asked in a falsely sweet voice. "I have that same skirt. If I had known you were getting one too, I would have taken mine back." Her small army of friends laughed.  
  
"You really should think about that," Richie told her. "Because it looks better on me. You just don't have the legs to show too much."  
  
Amber's mouth dropped open. "Yeah, well at least I didn't bring some icky snails expecting people to eat them."  
  
"They're not icky," Richie said. "And I brought the crème brulee. You know that custard like thing you ate about three of."  
  
"Whatever," Amber rolled her eyes and stalked off her army following her.  
  
Richie turned back to his friends who were laughing. They all hated Amber. The head master went on stage to announce the awards. Nathan and Shawna got snubbed and Ginger got best dish of Ireland (the audience roared with laughter as she accepted the certificate and bonus points). Richie got best dish of France, most authentic costume, gutsiest costume, and best over all costume.  
  
Richie, Nathan, Ginger and Shawna laughed their way to get everyone's coats from their lockers. Richie's locker was the last stop.  
  
"Man, when they announced that you had won, Ginger, I almost died laughing," Shawna announced.  
  
"Dude, tell me about it. That stuff was disgusting!" Nathan added.  
  
"I can't believe you did that," Richie laughed.  
  
"Um, hello? You're the one in the skirt," Ginger shot back.  
  
"Yeah, well. uh-oh." Richie stopped mid-sentence and stared down at the floor of his locker.  
  
"What?" Nathan asked looking in the locker as well. "There's nothing in there."  
  
"That's the problem."  
  
"What?" Ginger asked.  
  
"You know how I go to my dad's office after school?"  
  
"Yeah, so?"  
  
"I walk."  
  
"And?" Nathan prompted.  
  
"I left my clothes in his car," Richie answered. "I can't go out in public like this!"  
  
"So take off the kilt and wear whatever you have on under," Shawna answered. Richie looked down and mumbled something. "What?"  
  
"I'd, uh, kinda get arrested if I did that."  
  
"Oh, man!" Nathan laughed. "That is too wrong!"  
  
"Well, these things are hot. And nobody was supposed to know!"  
  
"Call your mom," Ginger suggested.  
  
"She has some meeting today."  
  
"Your dad?"  
  
"Class."  
  
"You're screwed."  
  
"Nice knowin' ya," Nathan told him.  
  
"You're never going to live this down," Shawna added.  
  
Richie's shoulders slumped. "Might as well get going. Will you guys come to my funeral if I die of embarrassment?"  
  
"We'll think about it," Nathan assured him as Richie slipped on his coat and slowly made his way down the hall and out the front doors into the cold February wind. 


	5. ch 5

AN: Sorry it took so long. Major writer's block. Hopefully the updates will be more frequent.  
  
By the time he had gone two blocks, Richie was ready to punch the next person who pointed him out to someone else. 'Only three more blocks,' he told himself as he passed the children's clothing boutique. Luckily, the wind was leaving him alone.  
  
A group of High School age kids were gathered in front of McDonalds. One of them whispered something and the group laughed.  
  
"Nice outfit!" one called. "Aren't the boys supposed to wear pants?"  
  
Richie did his best to ignore them.  
  
"Man, I'm glad I don't go to private school," another one added. "I hate cross-dressing."  
  
Richie set his jaw and quickened his pace. Because of his coat, you couldn't see the plaid and he did indeed appear to be wearing a skirt. He contemplated running the rest of the way, but didn't want to chance his skirt.er, kilt moving anywhere inappropriate. He could hear a loud chorus of 'Walk Like a Man' behind him. Slowly it faded into the distance as he rounded the corner.  
  
Richie had never been so happy to get to Duncan's office. He spotted his bag in the corner and grabbed his underwear and put it on. He had just started trying to remember how to take his outfit off when Tessa came in.  
  
"Can you help me?" he asked, spinning in circles in a vain attempt to find the end of the yards of fabric wrapped around his waist.  
  
"No," Tessa answered hiding a smile. "Do you not know how?"  
  
"Dad always does it."  
  
"Then I guess we'll have to go ask him."  
  
"He has a class right now," Richie reminded her.  
  
"I'm sure we can get his attention long enough to ask."  
  
She picked the discarded bonnet up off the desk and started down the hall. When Richie didn't follow, she went back, grabbed his hand, and dragged him down the hall, down the stairs, through a lounge, down another hall and into Duncan's classroom. From his perch at the top of the lecture hall, Richie got the sudden feeling he'd been set up. Duncan was standing in front of the class in his own kilt and plaid. But instead of a stupid little hat and sporran, he had on some kind of leather and brass armor. Amazingly Richie and Tessa's entrance went undetected by the class. Richie started to back away when he felt something plopped onto his head. The damn bonnet.  
  
"Ah, there's the lad now!" Duncan announced, gesturing to Tessa and Richie. There was a sudden unison squeak as the class turned to face the back.  
  
"Go," Tessa whispered, giving him a little push.  
  
"Nu-huh." Richie locked his knees and refused to budge.  
  
"Go." She pushed him a little harder. His feet slipped off the edge of the stairs and Richie went down with a thud.  
  
"You okay?" someone asked from amid the sea of smiling faces.  
  
Tessa rushed the few feet to Richie, "Are you alright, Richie? I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to push you so hard!"  
  
"Ach! Me arse!" Richie replied in a think Scottish accent. Everyone laughed.  
  
"Come here," Duncan smiled, replying with an accent as well.  
  
Richie trotted down the stairs with a forced smile on his face. Richie spent the rest of the class modeling his outfit and mimicking Duncan's accent. By the time Duncan was ready to dismiss the class for the day, Richie had the class in stitches. Duncan called last minute instructions to the class as they all trooped out.  
  
"Thanks for being a sport," he said ruffling Richie's hair through the bonnet.  
  
"Get me out of this thing," was Richie's response. Despite his playful attitude during class, he was not very happy.  
  
"Can't," Duncan answered. "Tessa wants pictures."  
  
"Figures," Richie groaned.  
  
So he went home in full costume, pouting the whole way. He was bound and determined to be mad as long as he could. No cute little gesture was going to make this up to him. He had been humiliated, on purpose, and that was not something he was just going to let go. Luckily when they got home, it was too dark for pictures, so Richie just went straight upstairs demanding for Duncan to 'get it off me!'  
  
Richie didn't come down for dinner so Tessa put a plate outside his door. The next morning, Richie was downstairs in his sweats, waiting for a ride to tryouts. At school, he told Nathan and Ginger about what had happened and they agreed that his parents deserved the silent treatment for as long as Richie could keep it up. The silence that drove Duncan and Tessa insane with guilt only lasted for a week. Friday night, Richie stomped up to his room as usual then a few minutes later came running back down with a huge grin on his face and a brand new letter jacket on.  
  
"What's all this?" Duncan asked looking up from setting the table.  
  
"Where did you get that coat?" Tessa added.  
  
"What this thing?" Richie smiled and modeled it. It was black with forest green trim. The front left had a carpet like green RI on it with the "I" slightly behind and lower than the "R." Noel-MacLeod was embroidered in big white script letters across the back along with the number 23. "I found it in my locker this morning. Along with a practice schedule."  
  
"You made the team?" Tessa ventured.  
  
"Not just the team. see, so many guys tried out that they ended up making two teams, Varsity and JV, I'm the starting catcher for Varsity! I made Varsity on my first try!" Richie beamed with pride.  
  
Tessa wasn't sure what the difference between Varsity and JV was, but judging by Richie's reaction he had made the better of the two and that was an accomplishment. "Congratulations!" She smiled and gave him a hug.  
  
"Good job, Rich!" Duncan took his turn and thumped Richie hard on the back. "I guess playing catch in the park with your old man wasn't such a bad idea after all."  
  
"Guess not."  
  
"I guess we're celebrating tonight," Tessa looked over the dinner she had started to make.  
  
"Actually. Um, can we celebrate tomorrow?" Richie asked awkwardly. "See, Ginger and Shawna wanna treat me 'n Nathan to dinner tonight. We were going to go to Study Hall. is that okay?"  
  
"Of course," Duncan approved, before Tessa could object. "You have fun with your friends. But tomorrow night, you're stuck with us, deal?"  
  
"Cool, thanks. Well, I gotta go change. Nathan's gonna be here soon." With that he turned and thundered up the stairs.  
  
"What's Varsity?" Tessa asked in a whisper.  
  
"The best players make Varsity. JV is Junior Varsity, the guys who are good but not as good as the others make that team and work their way up," Duncan explained.  
  
"I guess someone will have to teach me about baseball as well," Tessa said opening the freezer. "Since I will have so many games to go to."  
  
. . . . . .  
  
Richie's junior year ended quickly and summer set in. Richie spent a lot of time with his friends on the weekends and during the week he worked at Tessa's art store. Being around art and art supplies all day gave Richie the need to doodle. So one day, he confiscated a sketchbook off the shelves and a nice set of pencils and set to some serious drawing whenever there were no customers. Tessa took to going through it every night when he went to bed and couldn't keep her pride down. She was proud when she watched him at his weekly baseball practices, but she didn't understand baseball. art she knew. And she could tell Richie had talent. One day, she presented him with a box of top of the line pastels and his own little corner in the back room where he could draw during slow periods. Richie happily took up residence there at his table, sketching and drawing. Tessa would give him little lessons every so often but mostly left his talent to develop on its own. Which it did.  
  
Finally, the end of summer began to approach and the count down to the first day of school began. But first there was the little matter of Tessa's birthday. Richie was determined to make it special since it was her first birthday as an official mom. The year before it had been pretend, a front, a lie; this year it was legal and they had the certificate to prove it. Richie and Duncan plotted for weeks trying to decide what to do. Finally, they decided on taking her out for a fancy dinner and dancing. Duncan even taught Richie to dance for the occasion. So on July 25th, they all got dressed up and piled into the car.  
  
Tessa spent the entire drive there thanking them for what she was sure was going to be a beautiful evening. Richie just grinned in the back seat and patted his sport coat pocket. They settled down at their table and talked for a few minutes. They placed their orders and then Richie announced it was time for presents. Duncan reached into his inside pocket and pulled out a long velvet box.  
  
"It's from both of us," he told her before handing it over.  
  
Tessa opened the box and looked at the silver link bracelet. Attached at even intervals were six silver charms.  
  
"It's a charm bracelet," Richie told her in case she hadn't noticed. "I remembered you showing me your old one when we moved. You said everything that was important to you was on that bracelet in one form or another. Then I realized something; Dad and I weren't on there. But it was so full; we decided to get you a new one."  
  
"That is so sweet of you," Tessa told him, putting a hand on his cheek then giving Duncan a kiss.  
  
"It was his idea," Duncan told her. "I just jumped on the band wagon."  
  
"See, this one," Richie interrupted pointing at the first charm, a small flashlight. "Is me. for when I broke in. get it?" She gave a little laugh and nodded. "This one," he pointed at a knife. "Is Dad. They didn't have swords, but this looks kinda like the katana. And this one," an apple. "Is Washington. Washington apples," he smiled proud of his pun. "This," a palm tree. "Is Rhode Island. Tree, tropics, island," he explained. "The treasure chest is the antique store. 'Cause there was that chest that you wouldn't let anyone buy 'cause you liked it. And the palette is for the art store."  
  
"That was very creative," Tessa told him. "Did you think of all this by yourself?"  
  
"Dad helped."  
  
"Mostly with the check," Duncan smiled.  
  
"Yeah, I was kinda low on cash," Richie admitted. "So my present to you is I'm not gonna complain. not once. that I'm stuck in this horrible, itchy, suffocating suit all night. And Dad's gonna make me dance with you."  
  
"I think you just blew that one, Rich," Duncan told him.  
  
"Oh, we'll just start now," Tessa said running to Richie's rescue.  
  
"No, don't worry," Richie told her. "I figured that would happen. so I brought a back up." He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small felt pouch.  
  
"Don't look at me," Duncan shrugged when Tessa glanced at him. "I don't know what it is."  
  
Tessa opened the pouch and looked at the small, silver, baby bottle charm inside.  
  
"It's for the adoption," Richie told her.  
  
"What are the numbers for?" she asked each of the five sides had numbers engraved on them.  
  
"In order. my birthday, the day I met you guys, the date on the adoption certificate, the day you told me, and my initials. Do you like it?"  
  
"Oh, Richie." Tessa turned the bottle in her hands. "How thoughtful." She gave him a hug and a kiss.  
  
"You like it?" he asked again.  
  
"I love it." She wiped at her teary eyes.  
  
"Good." He smiled proudly.  
  
A little while later the food came. They talked about the upcoming year. Duncan had been volunteered to teach a couple night classes along with his daily classes. Tessa's store had become very popular once she added weekly beginners' classes. Richie had baseball as well as the free lance art class he had been convinced to sign up for to look forward to as well as all the activities that came with senior year: senior pictures, prom, graduation, and (Richie's favorite) off campus lunch.  
  
After dinner, Richie amazed Tessa with his basic dance moves. Duncan was much better on the dance floor so he and Tessa danced for almost an hour. Richie mostly left them to themselves but cut in every now and then. After Richie convinced them they had had enough dancing, they went home for the cake Duncan and Richie had made.  
  
. . . . . .  
  
School started two weeks before Richie's birthday. Richie came home after his first day bubbling over with excitement about the year. He told Tessa how much he loved his art class. His English class was going to be mostly writing, which he still had a problem with, so he was a little apprehensive. But, he had talked to his teacher after class and he was willing to give Richie some extra help if he needed it. His reading class, the one Tessa forced him to sign up for, was small and he said it would be 'okay'. He, Nathan, Ginger and Shawna had gone to Study Hall, where they went every Friday, for lunch. He also got to show off his bike and got tons of attention for it.  
  
They waited dinner on Duncan who got home around eight. Richie once again told the story of his wonderful day and how much he looked forward to the upcoming school year. Duncan told them about how long his day had been. He did not have great expectations for the year.  
  
. . . . . .  
  
September 19th, Richie went to bed with the promise of not having to go to school on his birthday, which landed on a Friday. Friday morning, Richie woke up most unpleasantly. Duncan entered Richie's room at five in the morning. As luck would have it, Richie was sound asleep on his stomach. With a smile, Duncan raised his hand and brought it down with a WHACK on Richie's boxer clad butt.  
  
Richie woke with a start and a yelp. "What the hell?"  
  
"One," Duncan told him. WHACK! "Two. Happy Birthday, by the way."  
  
"Hey!"  
  
WHACK!  
  
"Three."  
  
"Mom!" Richie yelled, struggling to untangle himself from his sheets,  
  
WHACK!  
  
"Four."  
  
"Mom!"  
  
WHACK!  
  
"Five."  
  
"MOOOOOOOMMMMM!!"  
  
WHACK!  
  
"Six."  
  
"AGGGH!!"  
  
"What's going on up here?" Tessa asked, laughing in the doorway. Richie had wiggled his top half off the bed, but his legs were tangled in the sheets and his butt was positioned perfectly for Duncan, who was happily whacking away counting as he went.  
  
"Birthday spankings," he explained. WHACK! "Seven."  
  
"Make him stop!"  
  
WHACK!  
  
"Eight."  
  
"Mom, you can't." WHACK! "OW!"  
  
"Nine."  
  
"Let him do this!"  
  
"And why not?" she asked not moving.  
  
WHACK!  
  
"Ten."  
  
"Cause!" WHACK! "Stop it!"  
  
"Eleven."  
  
"Oh, Richie. He's almost done. It will be over soon."  
  
WHACK! "Twelve." WHACK! "Thirteen."  
  
"Good enough! Stop, please!"  
  
WHACK!  
  
"Fourteen."  
  
"Duncan, at least stop hitting him so hard."  
  
WHACK!  
  
"Fifteen. I'm barely touching him." WHACK! "Sixteen."  
  
"My ass you're not touching me!" Richie protested.  
  
WHACK!  
  
"Seventeen. And I think we need to," WHACK! "Eighteen. Talk about your language."  
  
"I'm sorry!"  
  
WHACK!  
  
"Nineteen."  
  
"Finally."  
  
WHACK!  
  
"And one to grow on."  
  
"Done now?"  
  
WHACK!  
  
"And one for your language." Duncan looked at Tessa. "Anything else while he's stuck?"  
  
"His room is pretty messy," she said. "He was supposed to clean it."  
  
WHACK!  
  
"OW!"  
  
"Anything else?" Duncan asked. Tessa shook her head. "What about you, Rich. You been up to anything we should know about?"  
  
"Nu-huh," he assured him.  
  
"Okay."  
  
WHACK!  
  
"What was that for?!" Richie demanded.  
  
"Just in case."  
  
Tessa made Richie's favorite breakfast for him. Chocolate chip pancakes, link sausage, bacon, biscuits, and fresh berries where on the table when he finally came down. He made a big show of getting a cushion from the couch to sit on before inhaling the food. He blatantly ignored Duncan and only spoke to Tessa using the shortest phrases possible. After Duncan and Tessa cleared the table, (Richie was excused from all chores for the day) they begged him to join them in the living room. Only when Duncan threatened to return his presents to the store did he go in.  
  
Richie got a new pair of gloves and a scarf that matched his letterman jacket, a new set of pastels and charcoal pencils, a set of sketch books in all different sizes, a set of canvases and frames, an easel, all new catcher's gear: a helmet and mask, chest protector, and shin guards; five cds, six movies and some clothes.  
  
"Mom," Richie groaned, looking into a box containing a new suite and tie. "I wear enough of this crap at school!"  
  
All in all it was a good haul. They spent the day having Richie model his new clothes and his baseball uniform complete with catcher's gear, watching movies, and eating his favorite meals. That night Ginger, Nathan, and Shawna took him to dinner and a movie.  
  
Richie got home in time for cake and one more movie. He piled all his presents into the spare upstairs room to deal with Saturday and went to bed. Early the next morning, Richie woke with a start when a hand clamped over his mouth. He started to yell, but the noise didn't carry past the hand. He started to struggle, but the person who was holding him was stronger than he was and he didn't manage to move at all. Once Richie realized that he didn't have a chance, he stopped moving and waited to see what the stranger would do to him. 


	6. ch 6

"That's a good, boy," the stranger said, with a smile in his voice. "Stay quiet." Richie nodded his head. "Now, close your eyes; I'm going to turn the light on." Richie squeezed his eyes shut. Through his eyelids he could still see the lights turn on. "Get used to the light and open your eyes." After a few minutes Richie opened his eyes completely. He recognized the man standing over him, but couldn't put a name with the face. "Do you remember me?"  
  
"You're the guy from the bridge," Richie said.  
  
"The guy on the bridge?" the man repeated. "You'd think that father of yours would have taught you something of family by now."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"I'm Conner MacLeod. I'm a good guy," he added to emphasize the point.  
  
"So why'd you sneak into my room in the middle of the night like a kidnapper?"  
  
"Because I could."  
  
"What?"  
  
"It was entirely too easy to get to you, laddie."  
  
"I still don't get it," Richie admitted, starting to feel a little more at ease with Conner. He sat up and leaned against the headboard.  
  
"Where do you think you'd be if I was a kidnapper?"  
  
"You aren't, right?" Richie wanted to be clear on that point.  
  
"Right. But if I was?"  
  
"Probably in the trunk."  
  
"And where would Duncan be?"  
  
"Haulin' ass to get me," Richie said sitting up a little straighter. although he felt awkward defending his father in his underwear.  
  
"But he doesn't know you're gone." Richie opened his mouth to answer, but closed it again. "I'm just teaching your dad a lesson."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"This house isn't as small as the loft. He has no idea I'm here. That's not good."  
  
"So. Conner. you're just gonna chill up here all night?"  
  
"That's Uncle Conner to you, and that is the plan."  
  
"Uncle Conner," Richie repeated. A small smile spread across his face. "I've never had an uncle before."  
  
"Well, I've never had a nephew, so I guess we'll learn together."  
  
"Instant family, just add water," Richie mumbled to himself. "So. what do we do now?"  
  
"Did Duncan ever tell you of the time he got lost in the woods chasing a wolf?" Conner asked.  
  
"Yeah. well, kinda. He talks about how scared he was that his dad was gonna beat him when he found him. And then he realized that he was only punished because his dad loved him and wanted to keep him safe. He tells me that part of the story every time he grounds me."  
  
"Then let me tell you what happened before he was found."  
  
Two hours later, Conner hushed Richie when he heard the sounds of Duncan going out for his morning run. He made breakfast in the kitchen, did his stretches in the living room, and stopped short as he walked past the stairs. Suddenly his footsteps doubled back into his bedroom, back through the living room and to the stairs. Conner slid behind Richie's open closet door.  
  
"Richie?!" Duncan called as he took the stairs two at a time. "Richie?!"  
  
"Yeah, Dad?" Richie answered innocently as Duncan turned into his room.  
  
"Are you okay?"  
  
"Of course? Why wouldn't I be?" Richie asked.  
  
"There's an immortal," Duncan told him urgently. "I want you to go down to your mother."  
  
Richie smiled. "Relax. I'm sure if there's a bad guy here you and Uncle Conner can handle him."  
  
"Uncle. Conner?" Duncan repeated. "Alright Conner, you've had your laugh."  
  
"Glad to see you can take care of the boy," Conner said coming into view. "I've been here for two hours. You're pride and joy could have been filleted twelve times by now."  
  
"You've made your point. But you didn't have to scare me to do it."  
  
"I've been telling you since you moved here, that you can give him his privacy, but you have to keep him close," Conner chided.  
  
"Alright, you can help us move him," Duncan retorted.  
  
"Move me?" Richie asked. "How come I gotta move?"  
  
"Because Conner was with you for two hours and I didn't know," Duncan told him. "That's very dangerous."  
  
"I like my room," the teen protested.  
  
"And you'll like the one across the hall; that should be close enough."  
  
"Do I get a say?"  
  
"Do you want to move?"  
  
"No."  
  
"You've had your say and it's been over-ruled. You're moving."  
  
"Richie?!" Tessa called from the stairs.  
  
"Everything's fine!" Duncan called back. "It's just Conner!"  
  
"Conner!" Tessa greeted cheerfully, coming into Richie's room. "We weren't expecting you until after lunch!"  
  
"I thought I'd get in some bonding before the parents got in the way," Conner told her with a smile and giving her a hug.  
  
"It's a real party in here," Richie said from his spot on the bed. "I feel underdressed in my underwear."  
  
Tessa looked at Richie who was still under the blankets and bare-chested. She smiled. "Well, why don't we all have a nice breakfast?" she said clapping her hands before leading the men out of the room. "Richie, get dressed and come down, okay?"  
  
"Kay!"  
  
Breakfast went well and the conversation was mostly getting Conner and Richie to know one another. The only time they had seen each other was when they had first met nearly two years ago. They hadn't even spoken on the phone. Conner had some pictures of Richie (Duncan had been sure to send him some of Richie in his kilt last year) but other than that had nothing to prove he was an uncle.  
  
After breakfast, they all trooped up to Richie's room to move him across the hall. His new room as almost directly above Duncan and Tessa's. Any immortal would have to either pass their window or over their heads to get to him. After much discussion, it was decided that it was better to have Richie's bed in the corner farthest from any entrance. Duncan would be able to notice any intruder before they were that close. Since most of his heavy stuff was in his office, Richie was easily moved. The only difficult part was disassembling and reassembling his bed. By the time they were done, it was time for lunch. They ordered a pizza since they were all too tired to cook and too dirty to go out.  
  
Once it arrived, they all settled in the den and talked. When the meal was over, Conner announced it was time for Richie to get his birthday present. Richie, who had honestly not been expecting one, quickly accepted the large box. He ripped open the paper, opened the box, and pulled out a baseball duffel bag. It was black with his name stitched in small green letters across one side.  
  
"Wow, this is awesome!" Richie smiled running his fingers over his name. Even after being Richie Noel-MacLeod for nearly a year, it still made his smile to see it printed anywhere.  
  
"Open it up," Conner told him.  
  
"Oh, man!" Richie exclaimed as he began pulling out the rest of his gift: a new black leather fielding glove, a catcher's mitt, a black and green batting glove, new cleats, and a cleat pick. "Dude, this is so cool! Thanks!!"  
  
"There's one more thing in there."  
  
"There is?" Richie opened the bag further and found it empty. Conner un- zipped the bat sheath for him, prompting Richie to look there. "Whoa." Richie breathed as he extracted a shiny new aluminum baseball bat.  
  
"Conner, honestly," Duncan groaned.  
  
"What? I heard you left a few necessary pieces of equipment out yesterday," Conner shrugged.  
  
"Thanks, Conner!" Richie beamed.  
  
"Ahem?"  
  
"Oh, right, Uncle Conner," he corrected.  
  
"You're welcome."  
  
Richie stood up, stepped away, and gave the bat a few test swings. "This is perfect! Perfect length, perfect weight, perfect grip. how did you know?"  
  
Conner smiled. "Choosing a bat is like choosing a sword. No one bat is perfect for two people. And since I've had a lot of practice choosing swords, I could easily tell which bat was perfect for you."  
  
"You were right on." Richie was still grinning from ear to ear.  
  
"Oh, I almost forgot." Conner turned and went to the door. "One more, then you're done."  
  
"More presents?" Richie asked hopefully.  
  
"One more. It's in the car; I'll be right back." Conner left the room.  
  
"This is, like, the best birthday I've ever had!" Richie exclaimed, going back through the gloves trying each one on. Richie looked up from admiring his catcher's mitt and caught Duncan's eye. "Fits like a glove," he smiled. Duncan smiled back and ruffled his hair.  
  
"Well, looks like someone has a new favorite uncle," Tessa smiled from her seat as Richie untied his sneakers to try on his new cleats.  
  
"Looks like it," Duncan agreed.  
  
"Okay, here it is," Conner said from the door holding a long polished oak box.  
  
"Conner, you didn't," Duncan said staring at the box.  
  
"Someone had to."  
  
"You should have asked. I don't want him to have one of those."  
  
"One of what?" Richie asked, eyeing the box. At first he had assumed it was a fishing rod; now he knew it wasn't and wanted to know what it was.  
  
"Come on, Duncan, he's a MacLeod now," Conner defended, beckoning Richie over.  
  
"That doesn't mean he can have that," Duncan insisted, taking Richie by the arm as he walked by.  
  
"Have what?"  
  
"It's my gift; it's up to him to refuse it."  
  
"I'm his father and I say no."  
  
"To what?"  
  
"Tessa, surely you understand what I'm trying to do here," Conner smiled at her.  
  
"Richie, go to your room," Tessa said. "The adults need to talk."  
  
"Can't I just see what I can't have?" Richie asked.  
  
"No," Duncan told him. "Go upstairs."  
  
"Can I have a clue?"  
  
"Duncan, the blade is dull, he won't hurt himself," Conner said impatiently.  
  
"Blade?" Richie repeated excitedly.  
  
Duncan reached over and covered they boy's ears with his hands. "No pre- immortal son of mine is going to get a sword before he needs one," he told Conner sternly in Gaelic.  
  
"I can still hear you, you know," Richie said a little louder than usual. "You must be mad, 'casue you're speaking Gaelic."  
  
Duncan removed his hands and resumed his grip on Richie's arm and continued speaking to Conner. "He's too young and not ready."  
  
"Duncan," Conner said patiently speaking Gaelic as well. "He's a grown boy. How old were you when you got your first sword?"  
  
"Eight," Duncan answered. "But that bears no weight here. This is a new time; he has nothing to defend or fight."  
  
"This is just my way of welcoming him into the clan."  
  
"You couldn't think of anything else to give him?"  
  
"It has a rack and everything. It's meant to go on his wall."  
  
"Oh." Duncan switched languages. "In that case, he can have it."  
  
"Are you sure?" Tessa asked. "Isn't it dangerous?  
  
"Have what? What's dangerous?" Richie asked impatiently. He had a good guess of what it was, but didn't want to get his hopes up.  
  
"Come and see," Conner told him opening up the case.  
  
"A sword?" Richie's voice squeaked in excitement. He gazed lovingly down at the claymore lying on soft red velvet. The name MacLeod was written across the hilt in big steel letters.  
  
"Not just any sword. This is just like my sword."  
  
"I thought you had a katana, like Dad?"  
  
"My first sword," Conner corrected. "It's a claymore, which is a type of broadsword. That means you have to hold it was two hands to use it."  
  
"Use it?" Richie's excitement grew.  
  
"Which you won't," Duncan told him sternly. "This is strictly a decoration, do you understand?"  
  
Richie looked helplessly at Conner. "I'm afraid he's right, lad. This is not meant to fight with."  
  
"Can't I at least hold it?"  
  
"Now, I don't see the harm in that, do you, Duncan?"  
  
"Tessa?" Duncan asked, finally realizing he totally left her out of the decision.  
  
"He can't hurt himself?" she asked Conner.  
  
"No more easily than he could with a baseball bat."  
  
"Alright, then."  
  
Richie reached into the box and grasped the soft leather hilt. Carefully he lifted the sword from its bed. He held it out in front of himself and gazed down at the blade. "Wow," he breathed.  
  
"Here, spread your feet apart," Conner said putting the case down. "Square your shoulders."  
  
"You are not teaching him to use that," Duncan interrupted. "But you can show him how to take care of it and help him hang it up. I have a class in an hour."  
  
Duncan left to teach his Saturday class, Tessa cleaned up from lunch and Conner helped Richie put his presents away. Then Tessa announced she had to go to the store and would be home for dinner. Conner promised to keep Richie out of trouble.  
  
He helped Richie pick a spot for his sword in his room, the helped him hang the rack right above his bed. As they worked Richie told Conner about his summer and his new classes. Conner promised to come back for graduation as long as Richie spent at least one vacation in New York with him. Richie promised as long as they could go to Yankee stadium.  
  
After a few hours of talking Richie took Conner to Tessa's store to show him where he worked and, more importantly, his art projects. Tessa had hung some of his paintings as decoration around the store and a few of them were up for sale. Then Conner took him to a movie and they met Tessa for dinner at Richie's favorite Chinese restaurant. Duncan made it there just before the food arrived.  
  
Sunday was spent taking pictures. Richie once again donned his baseball uniform and was posed for picture after picture in the back yard. Then Duncan wrestled him into his kilt and plaid before changing into his. They met Conner, who had changed into his kilt as well, in the back yard for more pictures. Richie was allowed to take his sword off the rack to pose with. Tessa ended up taking four rolls of pictures in total.  
  
Sunday night, Richie was sent to bed after saying good-bye to his uncle who was leaving in the morning before he got up for school.  
  
"Spring Break," Conner reminded him.  
  
"Spring Break," Richie repeated.  
  
To everyone's surprise, Richie gave Conner an awkward hug before running, blushing, up the stairs. 


	7. ch 7

Richie stirred spaghetti sauce on the stove and listened to Tessa on the phone.  
  
"Alright. we'll see you when you get home. Bye." She hung up.  
  
"Table for two?" Richie asked. Tessa nodded, as she tasted the sauce. "How did I know?"  
  
"Richie, he's very busy."  
  
"I've seen him, like, four times in the last month," Richie complained. "It's like I just have a mom."  
  
"Things will wind down. He just has to pay his dues for being the new professor. Things will go back to normal, soon."  
  
"If you say so," Richie shrugged. "Hey, I need an idea for a book report," he changed the subject. "Mrs. Jackson said I have to do something 'challenging', whatever that means. And she already has a list of what I've read so I have to do something new."  
  
"I would make you anyway."  
  
"But I don't know what to choose."  
  
"Do something classic so you can have access to lots of extra material to help you along."  
  
"That's a good idea. Now I just have to pick."  
  
"Go through the books Duncan bought you and pick one. Any of those would work."  
  
"Maybe Dad has an idea."  
  
Richie and Tessa were eating dinner when Duncan came into the kitchen.  
  
"Hey, Dad!" Richie greeted cheerfully. "Want me to get you a plate?"  
  
"What have I told you about leaving your books in doorway?" Duncan asked him. "Take it upstairs, now."  
  
"Duncan, he's in the middle of dinner," Tessa pointed out. "But you are supposed to put your things away, petit."  
  
"He can finish his dinner after he puts his school things away. Get moving, mister."  
  
Richie went to take his books and jacket upstairs. When he came back Duncan and Tessa were eating in silence.  
  
"Hey, Dad?" Richie asked as he sat down. Duncan didn't answer. "See, I gotta do this book report and I don't know what book to pick."  
  
"You have a whole stack of new books upstairs, Richie. Any of them will be just fine."  
  
"Maybe you can help me pick one?" Richie asked. Duncan just nodded.  
  
However, it seemed Duncan was too busy working on writing a midterm to really go though Richie's books with him. When Richie asked, Duncan didn't even look up when he told him to read 'To Kill A Mockingbird'. Richie started reading the book that night in hopes of getting Duncan to help him once he got farther into it.  
  
. . . . . .  
  
Richie ran up the stairs, glancing at his watch as he went. His last teacher had held the class late because they wouldn't stop talking and now he was going to be late for art. He sprinted his way down the hall and slid into the room just as the bell rang.  
  
"Cutting it close, Richie," the teacher, Mr. Allen said with a smile.  
  
"Sorry, sir," Richie apologized, getting his painting off the table where it had been drying from the previous class's work.  
  
"Richie, I want to talk to you for a minute," Mr. Allen added.  
  
Richie put his paining on his easel and went to the teacher's desk. "Mrs. Jackson wouldn't let us leave. I had to run the whole way here," he explained before Mr. Allen could say anything.  
  
"That's not what this is about. It's about your painting."  
  
"What's wrong with it?" Richie had actually really liked his painting. It was his version of Duncan's childhood. He had put a lot of hard work into the research to make the scenery perfect.  
  
"Nothing, it's a great piece. If I didn't sit here and watch you work on it everyday, I would swear your mother was helping you."  
  
"She did help me with my sketches," Richie admitted.  
  
"And that's perfectly okay, the finished work is yours. What I wanted to tell you was that there is going to be a city wide student art show in two months. I want to use that piece," he gestured to Richie's current painting. "And I want you to start thinking about another one to put in the show."  
  
"My stuff in an art show?"  
  
"Your mother sells it, doesn't she?"  
  
"I haven't sold any, though," Richie told him.  
  
"If you can sell your work, why can't it be in an art show?" Mr. Allen asked.  
  
Slowly Richie smiled. "Good point. Okay, I'll do it."  
  
"You have to get your parent's permission," Mr. Allen told him, handing him a form. "Have them read this over and sign it if they agree."  
  
"Alright." Richie took the form. "When do you need it back?"  
  
"No later than two weeks from now so we can make sure you get a spot in the show."  
  
"Cool."  
  
Richie went back to his work area and carefully put the form in his binder where he could find it before setting to work on his painting. He had already painted the background. He had looked through Duncan's Scotland coffeetable books and found a picture of an old thatch-roof hut set in a vast green field. In the background he had some mountains and a herd of grazing sheep. The foreground was a father playing with his young son and the mother was sitting on a large rock watching. Richie looked through his portfolio for the sketch he had done of the MacLeod tartan so he could use it for the family's clothing.  
  
"Is that from your clan?" Verna asked from the next station over where she was making a collage.  
  
"Yeah," he answered.  
  
"It's pretty."  
  
"Thanks."  
  
Richie skipped lunch to drive over to Tessa's store and tell her the good news.  
  
"Mom!" he yelled running through the front door.  
  
"Richie, come here," Tessa said around a customer. "This is my son, Richie," she told the customer, putting a hand on Richie's shoulder. "He did that painting. Richie, Ms. Arnold wants to buy it."  
  
"You're quite an artist," Ms. Arnold told him.  
  
"Thanks," he said blushing.  
  
"This is going to go perfectly in our living room."  
  
"Good," Richie said for lack of anything more intelligent.  
  
"You could really go places with this work. Be the next Thomas Kinkade."  
  
"You think so?"  
  
"I do," the woman smiled. "As a matter of fact, will you sign and date this for me? In case you get famous, I want to have proof this is an original."  
  
"Are you serious?"  
  
"Yes, I am quite serious. You have quite a bit of talent. You certainly take after your mom."  
  
Richie blushed again, but didn't bother to correct the woman about his adoptive state. "Richie, sign it," Tessa urged handing him a marker. "This is his first time to sell anything," she told the woman. "He's not quite sure what to do."  
  
Richie took the painting to the counter, turned the canvas over and signed the back 'R. Noel-MacLeod 9-28-94 (first sale)' "Here you go," he said giving her the painting back. "It may be worth something some day."  
  
Tessa rang up the sale and had Richie help the woman to her car. "Here." She handed him fifty dollars when he returned to the store.  
  
"What's this for?" he asked.  
  
"It's for selling the painting. I sold it for $65. The store gets a percentage for showing your work and you get the rest," she explained.  
  
"I get paid to do this?" he asked grinning.  
  
"If your work sells, you do."  
  
"Too cool!" Richie's grin widened. "I guess I can add this to my bio for the show."  
  
"What show?" Tessa asked.  
  
"There's a student art show coming up and Mr. Allen wanted me to be in it and now I'm a professional."  
  
"Richie, that's wonderful! I'm so proud. Wait until Duncan finds out!"  
  
Later that night, Richie stood in what had become his art room. When he moved bedrooms, he converted his old room into a studio. There were drop cloths spread out on the floor so he couldn't ruin the carpet and unfinished paintings were propped up on the paint stained walls. He had a few easels set up with more paintings on them. Now he was standing in front of a blank canvas. He had talked to Mr. Allen and found out that he could still be in the show. There was no rule against selling your art.  
  
Now Richie's only problem was figuring out what his next piece would be. He didn't want to do flowers, or fruit or anything rudimentary like that. He had his Scottish painting, which he really liked. Maybe he could do something French. The Eiffel tower was too over done as was the Seine. maybe Tessa would have some pictures.  
  
Richie went downstairs into the living room and grabbed a photo album. It took him three books, but he found his painting. He had just settled down to sketch when Duncan interrupted him.  
  
"What are you doing?"  
  
"Working on my other piece for the art show," Richie told him. "Mom and I told you about it earlier. The student show that."  
  
"Not now, go to bed," Duncan said distractedly.  
  
"I just want to."  
  
"Bed."  
  
"It'll only ta."  
  
"Richie, I'm warning you," Duncan told him. "I've had a long day and the last thing I need is to argue with a teenager who fancies himself an artist."  
  
"Hey! I sold something today!"  
  
"Richie, I don't want to hear about it. It's nearly one in the morning and you need to be in bed. Now move."  
  
"Did you even hear what I just said?"  
  
"Richie, I don't care. I wanted you in bed two hours ago."  
  
Richie rolled his eyes. "Fine."  
  
"Don't give me that attitude. Just do as I say." Richie slammed the photo album closed and got up. "Hey, your mother put a lot of work into those, and the pictures are old. You be careful with them." Richie set his jaw and tried to walk past Duncan. "Excuse me," he said taking Richie by the arm. "Did you hear what I said?"  
  
"Yes, sir," Richie answered.  
  
"That's better. Good night."  
  
"Night." Richie went upstairs and got into bed scowling the entire way. 


	8. ch 8

The next morning, Duncan went to the university to go over a paper with a student. After breakfast, Richie went back to the photo album to find the picture he had chosen again. Twenty minutes later, Tessa found him staring at it.  
  
"What's wrong?" she asked.  
  
"I don't think I'm going to do the art show," Richie mumbled.  
  
"Why not?" Tessa crouched next to him on the floor.  
  
"I'm not an artist. I just pretend I am."  
  
"Why would you say that? Was that a pretend painting you sold yesterday?"  
  
"That doesn't make me an artist."  
  
"You're right. Selling your work doesn't make you an artist. having the heart makes you an artist. Richie, you have the heart and you have the talent. Why don't you see that?"  
  
"Because I'm no good."  
  
"Yes, you are! Richie, both your art teacher and myself think you do wonderfully. And that woman yesterday at the store spent a lot of money on one of your pieces. She thinks you are a good artist--she even made you sign the piece! Why would she ask a bad artist to do that?"  
  
"I'm not any good," he insisted  
  
"Did someone tell you that you were a bad artist?"  
  
"No. I just am."  
  
"Somebody had to tell you; yesterday you were so excited."  
  
"Nobody told me. I just know I am, okay?"  
  
"Well, what did Duncan say when you told him about the art show? I'm sure he likes your work." Richie turned away and didn't answer. "Surely you talked to him about it. What did he say?" Richie didn't answer, but wrapped his arms around himself. A sure sign there was something he wasn't saying. "What did he say to you?" she pressed.  
  
"He said I'm just a kid who fancies himself an artist. then he told me to go to bed."  
  
"Are you sure you didn't misunderstand?"  
  
"Pretty sure, Mom."  
  
"Well, he was wrong. You are an artist. If you like what you're doing then you should be in the show. If you honestly don't want to do it. because YOU don't want to do it, then don't. But I would be very proud if you did." She put her arms around him. "It's up to you. Don't listen to what anyone says."  
  
"Not even you?"  
  
"Not even me. You have to do this for yourself. Okay, petit?"  
  
"Okay."  
  
An hour later, Richie was finishing his sketch of the photo of the French countryside he had found.  
  
"We used to picnic there," Tessa said looking over his shoulder at what he was drawing.  
  
"Yeah?" Richie asked, looking up. Usually he hated people looking over his shoulder at his work without asking, but when it was Tessa, it was more than okay.  
  
"Yes, Maman would pack a basket with baguettes and cheeses and wine and we would sit under that tree all afternoon."  
  
"How very 'Little House on the Prairie.'"  
  
"Papa would tell us stories about his childhood."  
  
Richie put his sketchbook and pencil down. "You'd just sit around all day and talk?" he asked, the idea was obviously new to him.  
  
"Oui." Tessa smiled at him.  
  
Richie shook his head and grinned. "Crazy French and their picnics."  
  
"Have you never been on a picnic?"  
  
"I don't think so." Richie said searching his memory.  
  
"Then we will. today," Tessa decided.  
  
"A picnic?"  
  
"Yes. I will phone Duncan and maybe he can meet us. It will be fun."  
  
"A picnic?"  
  
"And we can paint!" she added gleefully.  
  
"A picnic?"  
  
"I will make lunch. You pack a canvas and your paints. I will help you with your landscapes."  
  
"A picnic?"  
  
"Yes, Richie, a picnic. Now go get ready."  
  
A couple hours later, Tessa and Richie were in the car on their way to the park. Duncan was not with them as he claimed he was too busy with students. So, Tessa took Richie to a secluded, sun lit area where they settled down to an early lunch.  
  
"I'm going to do the show," Richie told her, trying to steal a cookie before he finished his sandwich.  
  
"You are?" she replied. She knew he would once he realized the only person he was trying to please was himself. "I was hoping you would," she added taking the cookie from him. "I think you have a real talent."  
  
"Mr. Allen says it must be genetic," Richie said with a shy grin.  
  
Tessa just smiled and patted his knee. When they were done eating she showed Richie different techniques for painting tress to give them more depth. The two stood huddled around the canvas, laughing and talking until the light began to fade and the temperature dropped. They packed everything again and beat Duncan home by five minutes. Tessa wanted to talk to Duncan before he and Richie got the chance to, so she sent Richie out to get Chinese.  
  
"Hey, Tessa," Duncan greeted with a smile. "How was the picnic?"  
  
"It was Richie's first. And we had a lot of fun," she answered angrily.  
  
"Then why are you so mad?"  
  
"How dare you tell Richie he has no talent?!" she fumed. "Do you know that he wanted to drop out of the art show because of you?"  
  
"He's in an art show?" Duncan asked.  
  
"Do you not listen to what he says? That's all he could talk about last night! And this morning he wanted to drop out because of what you said to him!"  
  
"I told him to go to bed; it was nearly one in the morning!" Duncan defended.  
  
"After telling him he's not a real artist. All of a sudden it didn't matter what I or Mr. Allen or the customers said. you said he had no talent so he wanted to quit! You're his father you're supposed to be encouraging him!"  
  
"I do encourage him! I taught him how to drive; I taught him to use the computer; I took him to the park almost every day to get him ready for baseball tryouts. I'm the one who found out he could draw in the first place! Don't tell me I don't encourage him!"  
  
"Fine, then stop ignoring him!" Tessa spat. "You are his first real father; how you treat him will be how he treats his children. Just pay attention to him!"  
  
"He's 19; he doesn't need mommy and daddy fussing over him all the time!"  
  
"He's never had anyone fussing over him all the time! He needs it! His whole life, he has been either ignored or abused. He has a real talent, Duncan, real promise. But he needs to be reminded of it!"  
  
Duncan was about to counter when they heard Richie pull up in the driveway.  
  
"I'll talk to him," Duncan promised calmly.  
  
Richie entered the kitchen smiling broadly as he announced something in slightly off Chinese.  
  
"What did you say?" Duncan asked in amusement.  
  
Richie repeated it. "Did I say it wrong?"  
  
"I don't think you did," Duncan commented with a smile. "But don't ever say it again."  
  
"What does it mean?"  
  
"Who taught you that?"  
  
"One of the cooks. What does it mean?"  
  
"Assuming you said it right, he told you to say that you're too old to be a virgin and are looking for a woman to help you on your quest for manhood. So don't say it again."  
  
"Even if I wanted to, I can't remember it."  
  
Tessa got plates out and Duncan got drinks while Richie put the food on the table.  
  
"Richie," Duncan said after they had all started eating. "I want to apologize for being so short with you last night. I was tired and frustrated and I took it out on you. I shouldn't have cut you off when you tried to tell me about your art show. But I'd like to hear about it now."  
  
Richie grinned around a mouthful of fried rice. "You really wanna hear about it?" he asked after he swallowed.  
  
"Of course I do."  
  
"Well, it's for the whole city. Each school gets three students go be in it. And Mr. Allen says I was the first person he thought of. He wants my Scottish painting and I get to do another one too."  
  
"You have a Scottish painting?" Duncan asked proudly.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"What's your second painting going to be?" Tessa asked.  
  
"A French picnic. I got the idea today. I was just going to do a landscape but decided to put a picnic in, too. I don't know if I'm going to put the family in. it may just be the basket and food and stuff. or maybe it will be at night and there can be candles and wine. Do a romantic thing."  
  
They fell into silence. "Oh!" Tessa exclaimed suddenly. "Petit, tell your Papa what happened yesterday." Richie snorted into his bell pepper beef. "What?" Tessa asked.  
  
"Tell your Papa what happened yesterday," Richie imitated with a grin.  
  
"Well, tell him," Tessa insisted, not getting what the teen found so funny.  
  
"Well.Papa.I sold my first painting yesterday."  
  
"That's great, Richie! Which one?"  
  
"Nothing spectacular. just a."  
  
"Hang on, I hear my phone," Duncan excused himself. "Congratulations," he added squeezing Richie's shoulder as he passed him on the way to his office.  
  
"See he doesn't think you have no talent," Tessa told him with a smile. "He was just. distracted last night."  
  
"Yeah," Richie sighed. 'He's always distracted,' he thought.  
  
After cleaning up after dinner, Richie went up stairs to read more of 'To Kill a Mockingbird'. After an hour he decided to go see if Duncan was willing to help him. He went downstairs and knocked softly on Duncan's door.  
  
"Come in."  
  
Richie went into the office. "Hey, Dad."  
  
"Hey, Rich. What do you need?" Duncan asked, not looking up.  
  
"I was wondering if you could help me with this book. I get it, but I think I'm missing something. What does it have to do with mockingbirds?"  
  
"How far along are you?"  
  
"Five chapters."  
  
"Then you haven't gotten to the mockingbird part yet. It's closer to the end."  
  
"Then why is it in the title?" Richie asked.  
  
"Because it's what the book is about."  
  
"If it's what the book is about, why is it not until the end?"  
  
Duncan sighed. "Richie, you just have to read it to find out. It's not about a literal mockingbird.it's figurative."  
  
"It's complicated that's what it is."  
  
"If you want something more on your level, you can always try Dr. Seuss," Duncan told him. Richie didn't move or say anything. It took Duncan a second to figure out why. "Richie."  
  
"Look, I know I'm not the smartest kid out there." Richie started.  
  
"No, Rich..."  
  
"But I try."  
  
"I know you do," Duncan insisted. "And that's all we ask of you. I didn't mean to say you were stupid, because you're not. You make grades just as high as any normal kid out there."  
  
"Normal? I'm not normal?"  
  
"I didn't mean that either. Just. you have to work harder sometimes to understand things and you're doing very well. You have good grades, you try hard, and you still have time for little side things like baseball and painting."  
  
"So painting is just a little side thing? I have no chance at it?" Richie asked.  
  
Duncan sighed. "Richie. you are smart and you are talented. Things don't always come that easy to you, but you don't let that get you down. You always try. And that's very important. Do you get what I'm saying?" Richie nodded mutely. "Okay," Duncan smiled. "Why don't you go work some more on that book and that way, later on when you have trouble with it, there will be more material to explain it with, alright?"  
  
"Kay."  
  
Richie went out to the living room and stared at the blank TV screen.  
  
"Hey, what's wrong?" Tessa asked sitting beside him.  
  
"Do you think it's too late to change books?" Richie asked her holding out his copy of 'To Kill a Mockingbird'.  
  
"What would you like to change to?"  
  
"I don't know," he shrugged. "Green Eggs and Ham?"  
  
Tessa smiled. "You are far too old for those books. They are way too easy."  
  
"That's not what Dad said."  
  
Tessa tried to hide her displeasure. "I'm sure he just misspoke."  
  
"He must have misspoked a whole lot."  
  
"Misspoken," she corrected before she could stop herself.  
  
"See? I don't even talk right! How am I supposed to understand an award winning book about figurative birds?"  
  
"You were just too caught up to think about what you were saying. I'm sure if you weren't so upset you wouldn't have had a problem. I'll tell you what. Ask your teacher your questions on Monday and keep trying. If by Friday you still want a new book, we'll talk, okay?"  
  
"Okay."  
  
"Now, why don't you go up and relax. Don't worry about school work, just go relax until bedtime." To emphasize her point Tessa took his book from him.  
  
"Okay." Richie went upstairs and put in a computer game. He blew up aliens until he couldn't keep his eyes open any longer. 


	9. ch 9

Tessa sat in the stands watching the high school baseball game. The Rhode Island Prep Minutemen was playing their cross-town rival the Evan's Glenn High School Patriots. It was a close game.  
  
Richie had spent hours explaining the game of baseball to Tessa to prepare her for going to his games. Tessa had understood the game after the first explanation, but Richie took such delight in the interest that she had to ask him questions every now and then. Finally Richie decided the best way for his hopeless mom to learn was to play and taught her how to play his Yankee's World Series computer game Conner had sent him. Once she was sufficiently drilled in the ways of the joy stick she and Richie spent hours in front of the computer vying for the world championship.  
  
Richie looked at the stands as he went to take his second at bat. He spotted Tessa, just where she had been the last time he had looked, and, just like the last time he looked, she was alone. 'He promised,' Richie reminded himself. 'He's just running a little late, that's all.' He turned his attention back to the game. It took a few pitches, but he ended up with a double that sent one man home. By the last inning Duncan still was nowhere to be seen. Richie went up for his last at bat. So Duncan wasn't there, no big deal. Tessa was. He could show off for Tessa. He concentrated hard on the ball. Strike one. It was okay. He still had two more tries. The next pitch went straight for his head. He had to drop to the dirt to avoid getting hit. Ball one. Richie got up and dusted himself off as the crowd behind him yelled at the pitcher. Richie took his position and watched. The wind up and the pitch. It was perfect. Richie gripped his bight tightly and swung. With a loud CLANG! The two met. The ball sailed over the in field, over the out field and over the low chain link fence. Homerun.  
  
Richie jogged the bases behind the runner that was already on second. The crowd was on its feet cheering and clapping. Richie caught Tessa's eye as he rounded third and headed home. She was beaming.  
  
"Oh you were so wonderful!" she cheered as he lugged all his equipment out of the dugout after the game. "The first homerun of the season!" Richie grinned and handed her his game ball. "Game #3 against Patriots MVP Richie Noel-MacLeod," Tessa read what the coach had written on it. "Congratulations!"  
  
"Thanks. too bad Dad never showed."  
  
"Then we should hurry home so you can tell him all about it," Tessa said with a smile. She had called Duncan's cell a few times during the game and had gotten no answer. She didn't want Richie to know how upset she was so she acted as if this were all perfectly normal.  
  
They got in the car and Richie told the game from his point of view the whole way home. When they got home Duncan's car was in the driveway and there was another car in front of the house.  
  
"Must be meeting a student," Richie mumbled. Duncan had been doing a lot of that lately. He had missed every game so far, though he promised to try to come to every one.  
  
"Why don't you go take a shower and I will fix you a snack. By the time you're done Duncan will be done with his student and ready to hear all about the game," Tessa told him.  
  
"Okay," Richie said less than enthusiastically as he climbed out of the car and got his bag out of the back.  
  
After his shower Richie changed into his pajamas. It was only five, but he wasn't planning on going anywhere for the rest of the day. He made it to the bottom of the stairs and then he heard voices arguing.  
  
"It's not hard, all you have to do is come!" Tessa nearly shouted.  
  
"I had important business to handle, Tess," Duncan sounded tired. "This kid nearly lost his scholarship. He needed help."  
  
"And what about last week? What was so important then?"  
  
"Tessa, I don't know what you are so upset about. It's not as if I lock him out of the house for weeks at a time; I missed a stupid ball game."  
  
"It may be stupid to you, but it is very important to him. Half the reason he was so excited about making the team was that you kept telling him how proud you were! And now he hardly sees you!"  
  
"Tessa, Richie is a big boy now, he understands that I'm busy."  
  
"He understands you have no time for him!"  
  
"I'm not hurting him!"  
  
"Yes, you are! All he wants is for you to take an interest in him! Is that so much for a child to ask?"  
  
"Tess."  
  
Richie didn't wait around to hear the rest. He went back upstairs and got onto his computer. He logged onto the internet. Richie sent Conner a long e-mail about the game and how his week had gone. At the end he put his countdown to Spring Break.  
  
. . . . . .  
  
Christmas came and went. Duncan was home as was Richie, but they didn't see much of each other. Richie spent most of his time in his studio or on the computer and Duncan spent most of his time in his office. There was no fighting on Christmas Eve or Christmas itself, but the days before and after were often filled with yelling and hurt feelings. Tessa spent as much time with Richie as possible. They played computer games, talked, painted, and played with the puppy Richie had begged for and gotten for Christmas.  
  
Richie started calling Conner every Friday to talk and Conner was always there when the phone rang. They would talk for an hour. Conner had also gotten the same internet messenger service as Richie so they could chat without racking up the phone bill. They also played video games together over the web. Richie ended every call, e-mail, chat, and game with his count down to Spring Break.  
  
School started back up and Richie was in the student art show. His work was well liked among the goers and he was invited to participate in an art auction the week after Spring Break. Richie quickly agreed and started on some new pieces. Duncan hadn't made it to the art show. He was too busy arranging a school sponsored trip to Europe for some of his students.  
  
Tessa and Duncan fought regularly. They tried to keep it down, but Richie heard nearly every word they said. Almost as a ritual he would take a shower, then sit at the top of the stairs out of sight and listen to them as they argued. His life reminded him of a bad after school movie, where the parents always fought because one was an alcoholic, or druggie, or having an affair and the kids listened to the arguments and blamed themselves. He had always thought the kids were real idiots always thinking they were the root of all the problems. He wasn't like them. He wasn't blaming himself because he didn't understand. He blamed himself because he did understand.  
  
The night before Richie was leaving for New York the fight had been particularly bad.  
  
"You don't love him anymore!" Tessa accused.  
  
"I do! I tell him all the time!" Duncan argued.  
  
"You tell him? You TELL him! Have you forgotten what those people did to him as a child? 'I love you' are just words to him; you have to show him that you love him. You have to spend time with him, talk to him, show some sort of interest!"  
  
"Richie knows that I love him! He's not stupid!"  
  
"You haven't been to a single one of his baseball games all season! You couldn't pick out one of his paintings if you tried! You don't know who his friends are! You don't even know what he named his dog. that you nearly forgot to get for him."  
  
"What does that dumb dog have to do with anything?" Duncan yelled. "It's just an animal!"  
  
"Do you know why he wanted a dog?"  
  
"Because every boy does?"  
  
"Because he wanted someone to go running with. Someone to play with. Someone who he knew would always be there for him. Someone to replace you."  
  
"Richie is not trying to replace me with. with. whatever the dog's name is!"  
  
"Buddy! The dog's name is Buddy!"  
  
"I don't care what the dog's name is! Richie's not trying to replace me with him!"  
  
"You were supposed to run with him in the afternoons, you promised you would. But you don't. You were supposed to take him to the park to practice, you promised you would. But you don't. You don't do anything with him! So he got a dog!"  
  
"So is Bobby replacing you, too?"  
  
"BUDDY! And no he's not. I spend time with Richie. I take him to parks and museums, and movies. I encourage him."  
  
"Don't start that again," Duncan groaned. "I'm sorry if I'm too busy trying to help some people grow up and get a job and be ready for the real world to go to a baseball game."  
  
"Do you have any idea how stupid you sound?! You're too busy to go to one, ONE baseball game! I don't even understand how in the world you can put practical strangers above the boy you broke the law for! Because that's what we did. We broke the law to make sure that boy upstairs could have a normal life. To make sure he knew what it was to be really loved! And you don't care about him anymore!"  
  
"I do care! I provide every thing I can for him! I make sure he can go to the best schools, and try anything he wants to. I make sure he can go anywhere in the country for college without worrying about if we can afford it. I pay for his hobbies! I pay for his home! I pay for his food! If I didn't care I'd put him on the streets!"  
  
"You do all that? My store does nothing for this family but give me something to do during the day? And for your information Richie doesn't want to go to college! Even Conner knows that!"  
  
"That boy is going to college if I have to apply for him myself."  
  
"He wants to go to art school. He wants to be an artist!"  
  
"Like you, Tessa! He wants to be like you! I can't help him with that!" Duncan shouted back.  
  
Richie decided he had enough and went into his room and crawled out onto the roof with Buddy following behind him. He sat in the only spot he had found that blocked the shouts from his ears.  
  
"All you have to do is show an interest. You don't have to be able to teach him anything. Just look at his work and tell him what you think," Tessa pleaded with him.  
  
"Richie knows I."  
  
"Would you stop thinking like an adult and think like Richie!" Tessa exclaimed. "He doesn't know. Any normal kid would have difficulty knowing if you loved them in this situation. Richie. Richie, is much different. He goes into a situation assuming that no one cares. You have to prove that you do. You're not!"  
  
"I do what I can," Duncan said tiredly. "I can't help him with his art."  
  
"Then help him with school work, book reports, and research projects, play catch with him, do anything. Just talk!"  
  
"Tessa, I."  
  
"Don't speak to me, Duncan MacLeod," Tessa said. "I'm going to go check on my son."  
  
She went upstairs and found Richie's window open. "Get in here," she laughed at him sticking her head out the window. "It scares me to death to find you out here."  
  
"I'm not gonna fall," Richie said quietly.  
  
"That doesn't keep a mother from being scared."  
  
Sighing Richie got up and crawled back into his room, Buddy clamoring in after him. Richie sat on his bed. Tessa sat next to him.  
  
"Are you okay?" she asked.  
  
"I'm fine."  
  
"You sound like you've been crying."  
  
"I stepped on my hand when I was going through the window."  
  
"That must have hurt."  
  
"It did."  
  
"Do you want to tell me the truth now?" Tessa prompted.  
  
Richie looked at the sword lit by a spot light above his bed. "I heard you guys fighting. I can always hear you. I'm sorry."  
  
"For what? You've done nothing wrong."  
  
"I'm here."  
  
"And that is so wrong?"  
  
"You never used to fight before."  
  
"Duncan and I have had our fare share of fights, petit."  
  
"Never like these. I'm just waiting for you to throw something or Dad to hit you."  
  
"Duncan would never do that," Tessa assured him quickly. "And I would never throw anything at him."  
  
"I've heard those fights before; I know what they sound like. You guys are getting there."  
  
"Petit, did your foster parents fight a lot?"  
  
"Some of them. most of them. And it's always about me. They didn't want a boy, they wanted someone younger, they wanted someone smarter, less of a trouble maker. they didn't want anybody."  
  
"Richie. I understand why you feel this is your fault. but I promise you it's not. Duncan and I just don't agree on some things."  
  
"About me."  
  
"About you, not because of you. Do you understand the difference?"  
  
"No."  
  
"If we disagreed because of you we would fight about things that you did or didn't do, things that you caused. We disagree about you; we fight about our different opinions on how you should be raised. Things that we do for you. Not you. Do you understand now?"  
  
"Sorta."  
  
"Do you at least understand there is nothing you have done to cause the arguments and there is nothing you can do to stop them?"  
  
"I guess."  
  
"You guess?"  
  
"Okay, I do."  
  
"Alright." She smiled at him. "Do you feel any better?"  
  
"Not really."  
  
"Is there anything I can do to make you feel better? Would you like some hot chocolate or tea? Do you want a snack?"  
  
"No. I think I'm just gonna go to bed."  
  
"Are you sure? Do you want to talk some more?"  
  
"Not really."  
  
"Okay." Tessa stood up and held the covers while Richie slid into bed. She tucked the sheet around him and folded the blanket at the foot of his bed for easy access. "I'm going to miss you while you're gone."  
  
"I'm gonna miss you, too."  
  
"I don't know what I'm going to do with myself with everyone gone," she said, sitting on the edge of his bed.  
  
"You can use my studio, if you want."  
  
"I just might have to take you up on that. Are you all packed?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Are you sure?"  
  
Richie rolled his eyes. "Yes."  
  
"Okay, well you get some sleep. We can go to breakfast before your flight in the morning. Would you like that?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"And I'll see if Duncan can go, too."  
  
"Why bother asking. he's gonna be busy with his trip." Duncan was taking some students to Europe while Richie was in New York.  
  
"I will always ask, because the second I don't he'll be free. Good night, petit." She leaned over and kissed his forehead.  
  
"Night, Mom."  
  
Duncan saw Richie for a quick good-bye the next morning. He couldn't make breakfast. 


	10. ch 10

Richie stepped off the plane and scanned the crowd. He didn't see Conner. He had wandered out a bit further into the waiting area when he was grabbed from behind and lifted into the air by two strong arms.  
  
"Agh!"  
  
"It's good to see you, lad!" a voice said from behind him.  
  
"Uncle Conner?"  
  
"Who did you think it was?" Conner asked, putting Richie down.  
  
"I don't know," Richie admitted turning around to give Conner a proper hug.  
  
"Let's get your luggage and get you home."  
  
Two hours later, Richie got his first glimpse of Conner's apartment. "It's bigger than our house," he breathed. "It's just you here?"  
  
"You, too, for now. maybe next year. Have they responded?"  
  
"Not yet. I don't know if I'm going to get in."  
  
"Why not, I saw your portfolio; you do great work."  
  
Richie shrugged. "It doesn't matter what you and Mom think; it matters what they think."  
  
"Well, you call me as soon as you get the letter."  
  
"I promise."  
  
"Speaking of promises. you promised me pictures of this dog of yours."  
  
"Yeah, I got 'em right.." Richie dug around in his backpack. "Here." He pulled out a fist full of snap shots. "Mom got a hold of the camera," he apologized.  
  
Conner looked through the pictures of the boy and his dark brown spotted dog. "What kind is he?"  
  
"He's part Dalmatian, part chocolate lab, part Australian shepherd. A real mutt; isn't he cute?"  
  
"What's his name, Buddy?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"He is a cute one. Does he going running with you?"  
  
"Yeah, he goes with me and Nathan every morning. Nathan's keeping him while I'm here."  
  
"Can I keep a few of these?" Conner asked.  
  
"Yeah, they're all spares. Mom always gets double prints."  
  
"Great, I'm sure Rachel will want one. She's been dying to meet you."  
  
"Rachel?"  
  
"My daughter."  
  
"I didn't know you had a daughter. How old is she?"  
  
"Much older than you."  
  
"When do I get to meet her?"  
  
"Tonight at dinner. She's meeting us at Corinelli's at seven thirty. Which means we have several hours to kill. Do you want to rest or explore?"  
  
"Explore," Richie answered automatically.  
  
Three hours later, they were back at the apartment to change for dinner. Richie was rambling at top speed as he listed off all the places he wanted to go over the next week.  
  
"Slow down, cowboy. We have all week. Put things in priority so we can get all the important stuff done first. We'll do all we can. Now go change into something nice."  
  
A Forty minute cab ride later.  
  
"This is it?" Richie asked, looking around the dimly lit restaurant. "Looks kinda expensive for a normal dinner."  
  
"This isn't a normal dinner," Conner told him. "It's your first dinner in New York and you and Rachel are meeting for the first time. and it's my favorite." He put an arm around Riche's shoulders. "Besides, I hear you like lobster."  
  
"They have lobster?"  
  
"Sure do; the best in town. MacLeod for three," he told the maitre'd.  
  
"Ah, Mr. MacLeod. Ms. Ellenstein is already here. Right this way."  
  
Conner and Richie followed the man to a secluded corner of the restaurant. An older woman sat at a table waiting for them. "Conner," she got up and hugged him.  
  
"Rachel, how are you?"  
  
"I'm doing well." They let go. "And you must be Richie."  
  
"It's nice to meet you," Richie said politely sticking out his hand.  
  
"Bah!" Rachel pushed his hand away and gave him a hug. "Family doesn't shake hands," she told him.  
  
"Okay," he answered awkwardly.  
  
"Rachel, let the lad breathe," Conner cut in.  
  
Rachel smiled at Richie as she let him go and they took their seats. The waiter came to take their order and Conner took it upon himself to order for the table.  
  
"And he," he said, nodding his head towards Richie. "Will have the lobster tails as it comes and a house salad with French dressing. Sprite to drink. And be sure to bring the desert tray by later."  
  
"Very good, sir." The waiter left.  
  
"Did I get it wrong?" Conner asked at Richie's odd look.  
  
"No, just. nobody's ordered for me since I was a little kid."  
  
"I'm sorry; I didn't mean to make feel like a child. It's a habit."  
  
"Hey, you got it right, I'm not complaining," Richie assured him. ""Specially not when the desert tray's involved."  
  
Rachel giggled. "Cute and funny, the girls must be coming left and right."  
  
Richie blushed self-consciously. "Not really. They pretty much leave me alone."  
  
"They must figure you're taken. You have to make the first move. Any girls in mind?"  
  
"Eghh. not really. I got to private school so most of the girls are snobs. Not really interested in me. And the public school girls won't look at me because I go to private school. So."  
  
"No girl stands out?"  
  
"Well."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Ginger," he admitted. "But we're friends and I made that mistake in Washington. Things were weird for a while."  
  
"Does she seem interested?"  
  
"I don't know. How can you tell?"  
  
"Does she."  
  
"Rachel, the boy doesn't need love advice," Conner cut in.  
  
"Yeah, I do!" Richie insisted. "How can you tell?"  
  
Rachel ticked off the signs until their salads came. Then she made the mistake of asking Richie what he wanted to do while he was in New York and Richie dominated the conversation until the desert came. Once Conner paid the bill, which he refused to let Richie see, they set off for home. Rachel promised to be by later that week.  
  
"Well, lad, I think it's time for all baseball fans to get ready for bed," Conner said as they entered the apartment.  
  
"Bed? It's nine o'clock," he protested.  
  
"The tour starts early," Conner told him.  
  
"Tour?"  
  
"Yes, there's a tour of the stadium before the game."  
  
"Stadium? Yankee stadium?"  
  
"The one and only."  
  
"There's a game?"  
  
"Exhibition."  
  
"And you have tickets?"  
  
"Two right behind the home dugout. Hopefully we can get you some autographs. But."  
  
"But?"  
  
"You need to get some sleep. We have to get up early."  
  
"Okay." Richie started off then stopped. "Um. where do I sleep?"  
  
. . . . . .  
  
"I'm going to need a whole new suitcase for all the stuff you keep getting me," Richie joked as he followed Conner to the check out counter at the mall.  
  
"We still have four days to get you one if we need to," Conner said nonchalantly.  
  
"How come you keep buying me stuff?"  
  
"I have years of birthdays and the like to make up for."  
  
"You don't gotta make up for that stuff, Uncle Conner."  
  
"Well, I was your uncle this past Christmas and I didn't get you anything."  
  
"I wasn't expecting you to. 'Specially not after all that stuff you got me for my birthday. I figured that kinda covered both."  
  
"Nonsense. I didn't send anything for Christmas because I wanted to make sure you got what you wanted. So I decided to wait until you got here to do the shopping."  
  
"Oh," Richie said eyeing the monitor as the clerk rang up their purchases.  
  
"Besides," Conner added, taking Richie's chin in his hand to avert his gaze as the final total appeared. "What good is being an uncle if I can't spoil my nephew and send him home for his parents to deal with?"  
  
"Guess I'm just not used to it," Richie admitted as he picked up two of the five bags they had accumulated while wondering the city.  
  
"So where do you have left on your list to go?" Conner asked.  
  
"Metropolitan Museum of Art."  
  
"That's it?"  
  
"That's it. We've been everywhere else. And I told Mom I'd check it out."  
  
"You know, Richie, you talk a lot about Tessa, but you haven't said much about Duncan. Is everything okay?" Tessa had told Conner about the fights in hopes that he could help Richie feel better about the situation.  
  
"I don't see him much, that's all," Richie shrugged. "Can I have some ice cream?" he asked as they approached a vender.  
  
"Not now. Is everything okay between you and Duncan?"  
  
"There's nothing to be okay about," Richie said. "I never see him, and when I do. it's only when he's out of his office and yelling at me."  
  
"Do you get in trouble a lot?"  
  
"No. he's just. cranky a lot. I get in the way."  
  
"Does your mom get in the way?"  
  
"She kinda puts herself there. See. they fight a lot. Like, every night. It's getting pretty bad."  
  
"Bad how?" Conner asked.  
  
"I wouldn't be surprised if I went home to divorced parents bad. I'm pretty sure someone sleeps in the guestroom every night. I never see them speak to each other; I just hear them yell after I go to bed. Mom knows I can hear it all and she tries to keep it down. it doesn't really work well."  
  
"She says she finds you on the roof a lot."  
  
"I know it scares her. but it's the only place I can't hear them. And now I have to close the window to block them out. Pretty soon the whole neighborhood is gonna be able to hear them. People are gonna start calling the cops on us.," he trailed off. "But hey. at least I'm too old for CPS, right?"  
  
"Richie," Conner stopped walking. "If you're upset about this, just say it."  
  
"What's that gonna change?" Richie asked him. "They risked their own butts, adopted me and moved straight across the country and now all they do is fight."  
  
"Richie, do you think this is your fault?"  
  
"Mom already gave me this speech, okay?"  
  
"Well, you obviously didn't understand. Richie, Duncan is a. once he starts a project. you see, Rich."  
  
"You don't have to defend him, Uncle Conner," Richie said and then started to walk again.  
  
"I just want to make sure you know that you had nothing to do with this."  
  
"Then how come they fight about me?"  
  
"I'm sure it's a lot of things. People have the uncanny ability to hear their names whenever mentioned. I'm sure you've missed a few things."  
  
"Maybe."  
  
Conner got an idea. "Hey, you know we probably want a whole day for the museum. So why don't we do that tomorrow?"  
  
"Okay."  
  
"So that gives us all afternoon to fill. Can you keep a secret?"  
  
"From who?"  
  
"Well, you'd have to keep it from your parents."  
  
"I tell Mom pretty much everything."  
  
"Then we'll do something else," Conner decided.  
  
"What were you gonna say? I mean, if we don't do it, there's no secret, right?"  
  
"But you'd want to do it. And then there'd be a secret. I'm not going to ask you to do that."  
  
"How come I gotta keep it a secret?"  
  
"Because it is something both your parents refused to let me do while I was visiting."  
  
"You mean. Can we? I won't tell."  
  
"Richie, are you sure?"  
  
"Yeah. I promise I won't tell. Please?"  
  
"Okay. but you have to wear the mask."  
  
"Okay."  
  
"And you can't tell."  
  
"Okay."  
  
"And do you know what we're going to do?" Conner asked. Richie was so quick to agree, he wasn't sure.  
  
"Swords right?" Richie asked.  
  
By the time Richie had to leave for school, he didn't want to leave at all. He promised to call as soon as he got his acceptance letter to the New York Art Conservatory. He promised to do his best in all his classes. He promised to be understanding about the situation at home. He promised to call or write once a week. He promised to send him a graduation invitation and a set of senior photos. He promised to work on his paintings for the art auction. He promised to do everything he was asked to do. Even if having Duncan MacLeod as a father was a bust. there was still another MacLeod interested in him. Nathan's father lived in Iowa. and New York was a lot closer than Iowa.  
  
"Bye, Richie!" Conner called out as Richie went through airport security. "Be good, okay!"  
  
"Sure, Uncle Conner. I'm always good!"  
  
Conner laughed as he watched the boy give his ticket to the checker and walk down the ramp toward his plane. He had tried to reassure Richie that Duncan really did care about him and that he and Tessa were fine and would have had problems anyway, but he was positive that Richie didn't believe him. When Duncan came back from Europe, he'd most certainly be getting a wake up call from Conner.  
  
When he could no longer see the boy, Conner gave one last wave and walked out to the car. He had some planning to do if he was to verbally out maneuver Duncan into admitting he was wrong. Perhaps Tessa would have some ideas. 


	11. ch 11

AN: So many people to thank!!! Everyone who reviewed with ideas and suggestions, especially Lori, Amy, Meme, and Beth. All your ideas really helped and got me going again. Thank you sooo much for all the support. I'm back at it and promise I AM gonna finish this story!  
  
Tessa was waiting at the gate when Richie's plane landed.  
  
"Mom!" He gave her a fierce hug.  
  
"How was your trip?" she asked, holding him at arms length to inspect him for any changes or damage.  
  
"It was a lot of fun. We went to a Yankee exhibition game, and Central Park, and Times Square, and The Museum of Modern Art. You didn't tell me you had a sculpture there. It was really cool though, I was like 'Hey, my mom did that!' and people kept looking at me all crazy. But it was really cool. How come you never told me?"  
  
"How much coffee did you have?" Tessa laughed.  
  
"None. In first class, they have espresso shots. And I only had a few," he told her, oblivious to the speed at which he was talking. "Hey, I met Rachel, too. Conner's daughter, but she told me to call her Aunt Rachel, just cause. you know, it would look weird. But she's really nice. She went with us to Madison Square Garden. That place is, like, huge. Like, really huge!"  
  
"Richie, clam down. Breathe."  
  
"I am breathing. Do you think we can go get Buddy on the way home?"  
  
Tessa smiled. "You can call Nathan when we get to the car and ask if it's okay."  
  
"Okay, cool. So. how was having the whole house to yourself for the week?"  
  
"Quiet, which is obviously not an option, now."  
  
"What's that supposed to mean?"  
  
"It means, that you are not allowed espresso ever again."  
  
"How come?"  
  
. . . . . .  
  
The next day, Duncan came home and they all went out to dinner. Richie rambled on in great detail about his trip. He told them about all the tours Conner took him on, how much fun he had, and how excited he was to be moving there in the fall. Duncan told them about his trip and all the historical places they had gone. Richie was especially curious about the Sistine Chapel and asked a lot of questions.  
  
"Whoa, Richie, slow down," Duncan laughed. "Why don't we let your mother get a word in and you can drill me about art later."  
  
"There isn't much to talk about," Tessa admitted. "I worked on my art, sold some of Richie's."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"I have a hundred dollars with your name on it."  
  
"Awesome!"  
  
When they got home, Richie presented them with the presents he had gotten them. A book on all the artists in the museum with a four page write up on Tessa and her work for Tessa and a book on New York's history and development for Duncan. Also, he got a set on international teddy bears FAO Schwartz. One French, one Scottish and a slightly smaller American one.  
  
"Corny, I know," he blushed as he pulled them out of the bag. "But. I dunno."  
  
"Richie, they're adorable," Tessa cooed. "I love them."  
  
"It's cute, Rich," Duncan added at Tessa insistent throat clearing.  
  
"And for Buddy," Richie announced looking fondly at the mutt by his feet. He reached into the bag and pulled out a black studded collar. "So when he goes to New York all the big tough city dogs won't pick on him."  
  
"When he goes? Buddy planning a trip?" Duncan asked.  
  
"Uncle Conner said Buddy can move with me," Richie explained as he fastened the collar around the dog's neck.  
  
"You're moving?"  
  
"After graduation," Richie said, looking up at him.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"To go to school."  
  
"I thought you weren't going to school?"  
  
"I'm not going to college." Richie was getting annoyed. After all, he was graduating in two months. Everyone else knew his plans.  
  
"You just said you were."  
  
"I'm going to the art conservatory!"  
  
"Since when?"  
  
"Since forever!" Richie looked helplessly at Tessa. "Mom! He's impossible!"  
  
"Richie, why don't you go finish unpacking and start your laundry," she suggested. "Duncan, can I see you in our room?"  
  
"What?" Duncan asked innocently as Tessa closed the door behind her.  
  
"How hard is it to remember what your son is planing on for his future?" she snapped.  
  
"He's a teenager. They change their minds all the time. For all I know, he could have decided to become a brain surgeon by now."  
  
"He's had the same plans for a long time and he's not changing them."  
  
"So when did he decide to move in with Conner?"  
  
"Months ago! He told us all about it the day Conner invited him!"  
  
"Tessa, I'm busy. I'm sorry I can't remember every conversation that goes on in this house. But now I know."  
  
"What's Friday?"  
  
"The last day of the school week?"  
  
"No."  
  
"I don't know!"  
  
"It's one of the deciding games for the playoffs. Richie's school has a very good chance of going to state this year."  
  
"For art?"  
  
"Baseball! Richie's on the varsity baseball team!"  
  
"I know that! I helped him all last summer," Duncan snapped.  
  
"But you don't seem to remember when you talk to him!"  
  
"Tessa."  
  
"What's Saturday?"  
  
Duncan sighed. "A baseball tournament?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Some sort of fundraiser?"  
  
"No."  
  
"An anniversary?"  
  
"The art auction!"  
  
"Right, I knew that."  
  
"And since you knew, you're coming, right?"  
  
"Sure when is it?"  
  
"At three."  
  
"Tess."  
  
"You're not coming?"  
  
"I have a class."  
  
"So cancel it!"  
  
"We're behind as it is. If we're going to cover the material we need one more class, not one less."  
  
Tessa set her face and glared at Duncan. "That's it. I'm calling Conner."  
  
"To what, tell on me?"  
  
"To take him up on his offer."  
  
"What offer? Tess, what are you talking about?"  
  
"Don't 'Tess' me," she snapped. "Conner offered to move here and spend some time with Richie since you're too busy all the time."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Duncan, this is Richie we're talking about. As much as he's trying to be, he's not a normal child. He still needs two parents to fuss over him and make him feel important."  
  
"He has two parents!"  
  
"He has a mother and a father, yes. But one of them is never around and hasn't the slightest clue about him! He needs a decent male role model and you aren't doing that for him!"  
  
"I am taking care of my family. I work hard and provide all I can for you two!"  
  
"A father does more than pay for things. They spend time with their family. They go to movies, and play video games, and go to baseball games, and school functions, and pay attention when they are told something that is important to their child!"  
  
"Tessa, I."  
  
"No! No excuses Duncan MacLeod. I am calling Conner and he will move here before you remember this conversation! You made a commitment to that boy and you are falling dangerously short of that promise! All he wants is for you to live up to the most important promise you ever made to him!"  
  
"And what important promise did I make him?"  
  
"When you adopted him you promised to be his father. A REAL father!" Tessa sat on the bed and picked up the phone and started dialing.  
  
"Tessa."  
  
"I don't want to speak to you anymore," she spat. "Get out of this house."  
  
"Tessa."  
  
"OUT!"  
  
"Fine, I'll be back later."  
  
"If you remember where your family lives!" Tessa yelled after him.  
  
"Where ya goin'?" Richie asked as he came down the stairs with a basket full of laundry.  
  
"Out," Duncan told him opening the front door. "If I can't make the game, good luck Friday."  
  
"Thanks, Mac," Richie shrugged as he walked to the laundry room.  
  
Tessa was knocking on his door twenty minutes later.  
  
"Come in!"  
  
"Hello, petit. Can I talk with you?"  
  
"Sure, what's up?" Richie scooted up against his headboard.  
  
"Did you hear us?"  
  
"The fight you mean? Yeah."  
  
"And?"  
  
"And what?"  
  
"Are you okay?"  
  
"I'm fine. I kinda liked hearing you tell him off. He needed it."  
  
"You aren't upset or nervous or curious? No questions?"  
  
"Not really. Just, when's Uncle Conner gonna get here?"  
  
"You heard that part, too?"  
  
"It was my favorite part," he admitted. "So, when's he getting here?"  
  
"He'll try to be here for your game Friday."  
  
"Where's he staying?"  
  
"You're ever resourceful uncle already has a town house furnished and ready for him five blocks away."  
  
"Sounds like he was planning on it."  
  
"He is a MacLeod."  
  
"Apparently the MacLeod brains skipped a couple generations."  
  
Tessa smiled. "Time for one of the few smart MacLeods to go to sleep. You have school in the morning and important tests this week."  
  
Richie smirked as he slid under the covers. "Man, Mac doesn't pay attention and you know way too much."  
  
"Good night, Richie."  
  
"Good night, Mom."  
  
AN: If anyone is reading Yes, Master is has been updated and is now in the rated 'R' section. 


	12. ch 12

Conner sent Richie a key to his town house. Along with the key, he sent a list of simple chores for him to work on if he got the time. So everyday after he finished his homework and dinner, he went to Conner's to dust, vacuum, paint and polish. While Richie was away, Duncan and Tessa either ignored each other or fought.  
  
Duncan was starting to realize what he was doing wrong once he saw how excited Richie was that Conner was moving to Rhode Island. He tried to make an effort to get to know the stranger that lived upstairs, but Richie had very little interest in him. At dinner, Richie talked about what he was going to do at Conner's or just listened to the conversation. By Thursday, he had the entire place ready to go so he decided to go grocery shopping to surprise Conner. Duncan offered to drive him, but Richie had already asked to borrow Tessa's car.  
  
"Okay. Don't want any company?"  
  
"Nope. I'm good." Richie turned around and nearly ran over Tessa. "Oh, sorry, Mom. Hey, I'm off to the store. Wanna come?"  
  
"I can't. But can you pick up some eggs and flour while you're there? I want to make Conner his favorite pie for tomorrow."  
  
"Sure. Anything else?"  
  
"No. Be careful." She kissed his cheek. Richie rolled his eyes. "Just use the credit card and pick up some drinks for the team, too."  
  
"Kay, back in a bit."  
  
"Why are you making Conner a cake?" Duncan asked.  
  
"He's flying in tomorrow. Just in time for Richie's game. Richie's so excited. He's wanted Conner to see him play all season."  
  
"That reminds me. What time does the game start?"  
  
"Five thirty. just like all his games do."  
  
"Good. I'm going to make it this time. I'm cutting my last class short to be there."  
  
"Sure you are."  
  
. . . . . .  
  
"Okay, boys, remember this one counts." the coach droned on in his usual pep-talk. Richie scanned the crowd carefully looking for any sign of Tessa and Conner. Tessa had warned him that they would probably be late but they would try to be on time. They still weren't there by his first time at bat. He hit a double.  
  
While he was putting on his catcher's gear, he heard his name. He looked up to see Tessa and Conner waving from the stands. He waved back. He could hear them cheering for him and the team as he crouched behind home plate. Innings came and went.  
  
By the bottom of the eighth the game was tied. The South Rhode Island High Bears were batting with two men out and one on base. Richie stood behind the plate yelling codes at his team as the next batter came from the deck. The first pitch was to the right. Ball one. The second was a slider. Strike one. Then a fast ball. Strike two. A wild pitch. Ball two. Richie ran through the signals until the pitcher decided on another fast ball. Richie could see the ball head straight for his glove. However the ball's journey was interrupted when the batter swung. He made contact and the ball soared into the out field.  
  
"Throw home! Run! Run! Home! Run! Go!" The crowd was screaming.  
  
Nathan, in right field, grabbed the ball and threw it to the pitcher as the runner charged to third base. He rounded the corner and the pitcher threw the ball to Richie. Richie planted himself on the baseline. The runner charged straight for him, determined to knock him over and get to home plate. Richie tucked the ball in his mitt covered it with his free hand and braced for the impact.  
  
The runner dropped at the last second to slide under Richie, who was supposed to jump out of the way. Instead, Richie stayed firm. The runner's feet knocked his out from under him, pitching him forward. His left knee caught on the runner's shoulder changing his direction again and causing him to flip mid-air and land ungracefully on his back. The Bears' fans started screaming until he held up his hand, still firmly clutching the ball. The Bears stopped mid-yell and instead the Minutemen screamed as the umpire yelled "OUT!"  
  
"You okay, son?" he asked bending over Richie, who was still sprawled in the dirt. All he could do was shake his head as he build up the courage to curl into a ball and shelter his throbbing knee. "Coach! Your player's down!" That call brought the coach, several players, Conner and Tessa running.  
  
"Noel, you okay?" The coach asked pulling Richie's helmet and mask off for him.  
  
"My knee," Richie said holding back the tears of pain that were stinging at his eyes.  
  
"Let me look, Rich," Conner said crouching next to him.  
  
"Who are you?" the coached stopped him.  
  
"I am his uncle, and I'm a doctor," Conner told him. "Okay, Rich, how bad does it hurt?"  
  
"Just amputate!" Richie hissed through clenched teeth.  
  
"Can you move your toes?"  
  
"If I can, I can't feel it."  
  
"Is your right leg okay?"  
  
"I think so."  
  
"Okay. Tessa get on his other side. Richie, put all your weight on me and we'll help you up. We need to get you to the hospital.  
  
"Can't they come to me?" Richie asked as they pulled him up.  
  
"Keep all your weight on your good leg and me. Don't put your left leg on the ground."  
  
They helped him to the car and into the front seat.  
  
. . . . . .  
  
"How is he?" Tessa asked as the doctor entered the waiting the room.  
  
"He's on his way to surgery."  
  
"Surgery?!" Tessa and Conner repeated together.  
  
"He cracked his knee cap, dislocated the joint, tore the muscles and tendons and bruised his cartilage. That's an amazing amount of damage for a high school baseball game."  
  
"Will he be okay?"  
  
"Once he gets through physical therapy, he won't limp. But, he won't be playing sports for a long time."  
  
"Is it really that bad?"  
  
"I'm afraid so. He's in for a long recovery. But he'll be okay."  
  
"Thank you, doctor," Conner said putting an arm around Tessa's shoulder. "He'll be fine."  
  
"He loves playing baseball. He's not going to be able to play again."  
  
"Just play up the good news. He'll have more time for his art."  
  
"His art. the auction! It's tomorrow. He's going to miss it."  
  
"He's an adult. He'll be fine."  
  
While Richie was in surgery, Conner took Tessa home to get him some things for his stay in the hospital. As much as they wanted to leave him out of it, they decided to call Duncan and tell him. To their surprise, Duncan had already left for the game. They caught him on his cell as he was making his way to the field from the parking lot.  
  
Richie was still in surgery when Conner and Tessa got back. They had already set up a room for Richie so the doctors let them in to wait there. Duncan called to say there was a bad wreck on the freeway so he was going to have to take the back roads and did they want him to get them some dinner. They declined the offer.  
  
Traffic was heavy on the back streets, too, so it took Duncan two hours to get to the hospital. He got there just after they settled Richie into his room.  
  
"Hi. I need the room number for Richard Noel-MacLeod," he said approaching to information desk.  
  
"Are you related?"  
  
"I'm his father."  
  
"I think his father's already in his room." the woman said with a frown.  
  
"I'm his father."  
  
"Then who is." she muttered to herself. "I'm sorry. This is just policy, I have to call and check." She picked up the phone. "Mrs. MacLeod? I'm sorry to bother you; this is Martha at the front desk. Is your husband with you? . Oh, his uncle. thank you." She hung up. "I'm sorry, Mr. MacLeod. I had to check. He's in room 328."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
Richie was out for almost another hour. When he woke up, his eyes first focused on Duncan who was sitting on his left.  
  
"Hey, how are you feeling?" Duncan asked with a warm smile.  
  
"Where's Mom?"  
  
"Right here," Tessa said from the other side of the bed. Richie turned to face her. "Are you okay?"  
  
"I don't know. I can't feel anything."  
  
"That's good."  
  
"If you say so." His eyes started drooping. "Where's Uncle Conner?"  
  
"He's in the bathroom."  
  
"Is he really a doctor?"  
  
"I don't know. You'll have to ask him. Richie?"  
  
"Huh?" He jolted awake from his light snooze.  
  
She smiled. "Sorry. Go back to." she trailed off as Richie drifted off.  
  
"What's the verdict?" Duncan asked.  
  
"He got ran over by a teenager and ruined his knee."  
  
"How did the surgery go? Did they fix the problems?"  
  
"They're going to explain it all when he comes out of the anesthesia."  
  
"Has he woken up yet?" Conner asked from the doorway.  
  
"For a minute," Tessa answered. "He's out again. He wants to know if you were really a doctor."  
  
"I was. about two hundred years ago."  
  
Richie was in and out for the next hour and a half. Finally he was free of the clutches of the drugs and could carry on a conversation.  
  
"So, you understand what's going on, tough guy?" Conner asked.  
  
"No more baseball?"  
  
"No more sports."  
  
"Who ever thought baseball was such a dangerous sport? I mean, this is why I avoided football."  
  
That night, Tessa stayed with Richie. Conner came back the next day, but Duncan had to go to work. The next day, the doctor told them Richie could go home that evening as long as there were no complications. There were some new rules, though. Richie wasn't allowed to put any weight on his leg or bend it for two weeks. To prevent this, he was confined to bed, the couch, or a wheel chair. After those two weeks he would have to come back to the hospital to get his leg checked. If everything worked out well, he could change to crutches and start physical therapy. From there on they would have to see what happened.  
  
"Rich, your mom and I talked this over and thought it would be a good idea for you to stay at my house. I don't have a job so I can look after you while she's at work."  
  
"Okay."  
  
"And I'll come everyday after I close the store to make dinner," Tessa told him. "And help you with homework."  
  
"School's still on the schedule?"  
  
"Not until next week, but Nathan and Ginger have volunteered to bring you your work and take notes."  
  
"Gotta love the friends."  
  
"Does that work for you?" Conner asked.  
  
"Sure."  
  
"But there are some rules."  
  
"Always."  
  
"You have to follow the doctor's orders. No weight on that leg."  
  
"The brace does not come off," Tessa added.  
  
"You take the pain pills."  
  
"You do your school work before anything else."  
  
"You don't move from where you are unless I'm there to help."  
  
"You listen to Conner when I'm not there."  
  
"That it?" Richie asked.  
  
"Those are the conditions. If you don't agree to them, you stay here," Tessa told him firmly.  
  
"What a choice. I'll do it."  
  
"No, stretching the rules. No being sneaky. It is very important that you follow all the rules if you want to be able to use your leg normally."  
  
Richie held up his right hand. "Scouts honor." 


	13. ch 13

It had been a week since Richie had gone home to Conner's. Buddy was waiting for him as a surprise when he got there. Buddy was a loyal companion and stayed by Richie's side nearly the entire time. Buddy was so excited when he first saw Richie in his wheelchair that he jumped into his lap. Buddy quickly learned that the left side of Richie's body was off limits.  
  
"Hi, Mr. MacLeod," Nathan grunted, struggling under the weight of all of Richie's schoolbooks.  
  
"I've told you, Nathan, call me Conner," he said stepping aside to let the boy in. "Need some help with that?"  
  
"Please." Nathan allowed Conner to take the top half of the books and papers.  
  
"I guess this is what he gets for missing a week of school. Thank you for taking care of all this for him."  
  
"Thank Ginger," the teen said dropping the books on the kitchen table. "I just brought it all here, she got all his notes, went through and highlighted and organized it all. Everything is in order and separated by class."  
  
Conner smiled. "How thoughtful of her." It seemed that Richie and Ginger had a mutual liking for each other. And mutual shyness.  
  
"Is Richie okay?"  
  
"He's doing fine. He's getting bored, but that won't be a problem anymore." He patted the pile of books.  
  
"Is he awake?"  
  
"I'm sorry. He'll be out for another hour or so. I'll time his medication better so he'll be awake next time you come by."  
  
"Is there anything I can do for you? Walk Buddy or run errands?"  
  
"That's very kind of you to offer, but we're okay for now."  
  
"Okay, I'll be back same time tomorrow," Nathan said, heading for the door. "Oh, and his teacher's are being pretty cool about due dates. Just so long as he has most of it done by the time he comes back they'll be happy."  
  
. . . . . .  
  
"How you doing, tough guy?" Conner asked, looking in on Richie.  
  
"I'm okay. Actually, can you help me with this worksheet?" he asked, looking up from the paper he was working on on the bed tray above his lap.  
  
"Sure, what's wrong?"  
  
"I know the answer, but I can't think of how to say it."  
  
They worked on the paper until Tessa came over to make dinner. Conner helped Richie into his wheelchair and took him into the kitchen for dinner. Tessa made chicken rice casserole.  
  
"Next week, when you're out and about, I thought we could go to the children's museum and see where they put your piece," Tessa mentioned as they ate. One of Richie's paintings had been bought by a private collector and the other by the state children's museum at the auction last week.  
  
"If I have time. This work is killing me. I'm never gonna catch up."  
  
"Sure you will. You're doing just fine," Conner assured him.  
  
"Yes, Conner says you're doing very well."  
  
"I don't get the new math sections. They're too hard."  
  
"I'll help you with it after dinner. Conner can do the dishes."  
  
"Sure. You help our young student and I will take care of the cleaning. Math was never my subject anyway."  
  
After dinner, Tessa brought his books to the table to give him some change of scenery. It took them two hours, but Richie mastered one more section in his book. One down, four to go. Tessa stayed until it was time for Richie to go to bed. She tucked him in, kissed him goodnight, and made sure he didn't need anything before she left him for sleep.  
  
After two weeks in a stiff brace and confined to Conner's townhouse, Richie's doctors approved him for crutches, a brace that allowed minimal movement, physical therapy and school. Tessa picked him up at Conner's and took him to school every morning and Conner picked him up and took him home.  
  
"Good to see you, Richie," his English teacher smiled at him as he hobbled into the room. "How is your leg?"  
  
"Attached."  
  
"We saved you a seat up front; we thought it might be easier."  
  
"Thanks." He lowered himself into the seat.  
  
"Everyone get out your homework from the weekend; Richie, get out all of yours, and pass it up to the front."  
  
Richie got to leave class five minutes early, along with a classmate to carry his books. By the end of the day, word got around that if you caught up with the kid on crutches, you could get a ride on the elevator to the next floor.  
  
"How did the first day go?" Conner asked helping Richie into the car after classes.  
  
"It was okay."  
  
"Did you get tired?"  
  
"Nope?"  
  
"Any pain?"  
  
"Nope."  
  
"Did you take your medicine after lunch?"  
  
"Yes. This new stuff tastes horrible though." The doctors had given him a new pain pill to keep him awake while he was at school. "How was your day?"  
  
"Talked to Duncan." Duncan had called and they had gotten into a fight.  
  
"What did Mac want?"  
  
"He's worried about you."  
  
"You don't say."  
  
"Rich, I know you don't like him. And I don't blame you. But you have to admit, he is starting to try."  
  
"I haven't seen him."  
  
"He's come by to check on you. He's even insisted on watching you for a few hours while I run errands."  
  
"He has?"  
  
"You've were asleep."  
  
"How convenient."  
  
"There's more. He's picking you up from therapy today."  
  
"What?"  
  
"He insisted. Tessa will be here when you get home."  
  
"Why can't mom pick me up?"  
  
"Give him a chance, Richie."  
  
"I thought you were on my side."  
  
"I am." Conner turned to look at him at a stoplight. "But don't you want to know what happened?"  
  
"He lost interest. The novelty wore off. I've seen it happen before," Richie told him.  
  
"Just talk to him, Rich. If you still don't like him around, we'll come up with something."  
  
"Like what?"  
  
"Something." The light changed and he continued the drive to the hospital.  
  
"What about Mom?" Richie asked suddenly. "Is she gonna divorce him?"  
  
"I don't know. And I don't think it's any of my business. If you want to know, ask Tessa."  
  
"Mom won't tell me."  
  
"I think they'd let you in on what they were thinking about. Especially something so serious."  
  
"They got married and adopted me while I was asleep."  
  
Conner smiled. "Good point." They pulled into a handicapped parking space near the therapy entrance. "You ready?"  
  
"Guess so."  
  
Conner helped him out of the car and to the receptionist. "Noel-MacLeod," he told the young man behind the desk.  
  
"Yes, Maurine will be out for you in a minute. Just take a seat."  
  
Richie and Conner sat down and talked some more. "Do you want me to go in with you?"  
  
"I'll be fine."  
  
"Okay. Don't make a scene when Duncan gets here. He'll take you home. I want you to go straight to bed."  
  
"Why? It's only gonna be, like, six."  
  
"Because this was your first full day back at school and now your first day of therapy. You're going to be beat."  
  
"Fine."  
  
"Okay."  
  
A young nice looking woman approached them. "You must be Richie," she said putting out her hand. "I'm Maurine; I'm going to be your therapist."  
  
"Hi, I'm gonna be your gimp," Richie said shaking her hand.  
  
"Ah, a sense of humor; you're going to need that. This isn't going to be very fun."  
  
"So I've been told." Everyone had warned Richie how difficult and painful physical therapy was going to be. It wasn't' something he had been looking forward to.  
  
"Well, I suppose we should get started." Maurine said with a smile. "I see you're already dressed and ready to go." They had found that sweat pants were the easiest to get on and off while Richie couldn't bend his knee. "Is your father going to stay today?"  
  
"Um, no," Richie answered.  
  
"I'm his uncle," Conner added, noticing that Richie had made no move to correct the woman. "His father will be picking him up, though. I have some errands to run."  
  
"Okay, who do we call in case we have a problem?"  
  
"His mother is at my house and the number is in his file."  
  
"That will work. You ready, Richie?"  
  
"I guess so."  
  
Ten minutes later, Richie was on his back on the floor in an amazing amount of pain all because he was sliding his heel across the floor which required him to bend his knee a fraction.  
  
"You're doing great, Richie, just ten more," Maurine encouraged him as she closely watched him movements. "Okay. You're done."  
  
"Thank God," Richie groaned straightening his leg.  
  
"Okay, so how does your knee feel?"  
  
"Hurts like hell."  
  
"What kind of pain? Throbbing, pins and needles, shooting."  
  
"I can take my pulse from here."  
  
"Okay. We'll take a break and then try it again."  
  
"Again?"  
  
"The same as we just did. And we'll do that until you're ready to do more. The goal is to gradually build up your muscles to their original condition."  
  
"Is it always going to hurt so much?"  
  
"Just for a while. Then it will only hurt a little, then not at all."  
  
"I'm holding you to that."  
  
Twenty agonizing minutes later, a sweaty Richie was surprised to find Duncan waiting for him in the reception area as he hobbled out on his crutches.  
  
"How did it go?" Duncan asked, standing up when he saw Richie come out.  
  
"Fine. You ready?"  
  
"Sure. I'll go get the car so you don't have to move around so much. I had to park pretty far away."  
  
"Okay."  
  
"You just sit and I'll come in and get you."  
  
"Sure."  
  
Once Duncan was sure Richie was comfortable, he went off to get the car. He returned a few minutes later and helped him in.  
  
"Hey, Rich, I was wondering if you wanted to go out to dinner just the two of us," Duncan said as they pulled out of the parking lot. "Your choice."  
  
"Mom's making dinner."  
  
"We can call her and tell her we won't be there. I'm sure she hasn't started yet."  
  
"I have a lot of homework to catch up on. And I'm pretty tired."  
  
"Oh, okay then. Maybe when you're up to it, we'll go."  
  
"Whatever." Richie slumped as well as he could in his seat. 'Too little too late,' he thought. 


	14. ch 14

"Five more, Richie."  
  
"You're killing me, Maurine!" Richie grunted as he once again pushed against her hands with his foot.  
  
"You're doing great, come on, Richie. Four more."  
  
"No, no, I'm done," he panted.  
  
"Four more. I have a schedule to keep with and papers to fill out here."  
  
"So lie."  
  
"Your goal is to not have to wear a brace by graduation, don't you?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"That's a month away. Four more."  
  
Richie sighed. "I want my mommy," he mumbled before pushing against the minimal resistance she was providing. Finally he was done.  
  
"You're doing great, Richie," Maurine told him as she helped him strap the brace around his leg. "A few more weeks of this and you'll be walking aid free."  
  
"I can deal with crutches for the rest of my life."  
  
"Chicks dig gimps. See you on Monday."  
  
"Not if I have any say in it."  
  
"How'd it go, Rich?" Duncan asked from the waiting room. He had been picking him up every day for two weeks.  
  
"Fine."  
  
"You up for dinner tonight?"  
  
"Nathan and the girls are coming over and I have to take a shower. We all know what a production that it."  
  
"Need any help?"  
  
"Mom's at Uncle Conner's if I need any help. Which I don't. I've been bathing myself for years."  
  
"Whoa, nice attitude, I was just offering."  
  
"Look, I'm sore, tired, smelly and hungry; can we just go home?"  
  
"Okay, let's go."  
  
The ride home was silent. Duncan couldn't figure out what was wrong with Richie. Conner and Tessa had been lecturing him that the boy wanted attention. But the more time he tried to spend with him, the angrier Richie got.  
  
Richie concentrated on the passing scenery. He wasn't sure what to make of what Duncan was doing. He had been so attentive the first few years then all of a sudden he was gone. And now he was back. It was all far too weird for him. Usually once someone lost interest in him, that was that. They'd send him back to the orphanage or just ignore him until his social worker came for him. But he was too old for that now. And Duncan had put a lot on the line for him. And Tessa would never let anything happen to him. Tessa. That was why Duncan was doing this. He wanted to make up with Tessa. And to prove how much he loved her, he was going to play nice with Richie. Well, he'd be damned if he was going to let Duncan use him like that. If Tessa asked him to play along he would, but not one second before.  
  
They pulled up to Conner's town house and Richie got out of the car. He wanted to talk to someone about what Duncan was doing. Tessa was on the phone when he went in so he went straight to the shower. He sat down on the toilet and carefully removed the brace that went from his thigh to his ankle. Then he got undressed, put on a different waterproof brace, showered, dried off, wrapped himself in a towel, went to his room and took off the brace as he dried his leg, got dressed, put on the regular brace. He was combing his hair when the doorbell rang.  
  
"Richie, you're friends are here!" Tessa called.  
  
"Coming!" He made his way into the living room. "What'd you get?" he asked Nathan who was holding a few rental movies.  
  
"Jurassic Park."  
  
"Awesome."  
  
"Pizza's on the way!" Tessa called from the kitchen.  
  
"Thanks, Mom!"  
  
Duncan came in with a tray of sodas. "You guys need anything else?"  
  
"No," Richie dismissed him. "Mac.you mind?" he prompted when he didn't get the hint.  
  
"Sorry, Rich. You guys need anything, we're in the kitchen."  
  
"We know." Duncan finally left the room. "Golly," Richie groaned under his breath.  
  
"I thought that your dad?" Shawna asked.  
  
"And?"  
  
"Since when do you call your dad Mac?"  
  
"Oh.he's uh, my step-dad. He kinda adopted me.when he and my mom got married a few years ago. So, movie now or wait for dinner?"  
  
. . . . . .  
  
"Good morning, Rich."  
  
"Mac.what're you doing here?"  
  
"Crime to have breakfast with my family?"  
  
"Just a surprise. Where's Mom and Uncle Conner?"  
  
"In the kitchen."  
  
"Cool." Richie turned to leave.  
  
"You want to go for breakfast?" Duncan interrupted him. "Anywhere you want to go."  
  
Richie paused. "No thanks." He once again started his trip to the kitchen.  
  
Conner and Tessa looked up from the paper they had been examining on the table.  
  
"Richie, we need to talk," Tessa said.  
  
Richie knew that tone. "What did I do?"  
  
"What is this?" She held up the paper.  
  
"My economics test.I was wondering where that was."  
  
"And is what at the top?"  
  
"My name?"  
  
"Next to that."  
  
"The date?"  
  
"I'm thinking more along the lines of the big red 'D'."  
  
"Oh.my grade."  
  
"You told us you studied," Conner pointed out.  
  
"Uh."  
  
"Richie, all we've ever asked is that you do your best," Tessa reminded him.  
  
"I know."  
  
"And we trust you."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"So all you have to do is tell us that you tried your hardest and we'll leave it at that."  
  
Richie looked at Tessa, then tried Conner and ended up staring at the table instead. "Not really."  
  
"Then go to your room," Conner told him. "We weren't going to make you do the extra credit this term because you had so much work as it was. Now you're not going out until you have it done."  
  
"But."  
  
"Richie, every time I saw you while you were supposed to be studying, you were goofing off, saying you were taking a break. So not only did you blow off your schoolwork, which comes first in this house."  
  
"Conner," Duncan interrupted from behind Richie.  
  
"Not now, we're in the middle of something." He turned back to the teen. "You blew that off and then you lied to me and your mother."  
  
"I know, but Dad, I."  
  
No one seemed to notice Richie's slip except Duncan.  
  
"Do you have a legitimate excuse?" Conner asked him.  
  
"No."  
  
"Then get to work."  
  
"Can I at least get something to eat first?"  
  
"Sure you can, Rich," Duncan cut in. "We'll go then you can get to work when we get back."  
  
"Duncan, I believe the lad is in trouble."  
  
"And I believe I'M his father. I'm taking my son out to breakfast."  
  
"Don't worry about it, Mac. I didn't want to go anyway."  
  
"Richie, you messed up on one test. Your grades are fine."  
  
"I wasn't going to go with you anyway."  
  
"What's one meal going to hurt?"  
  
"I dunno, you tell me."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Duncan, are you really that dense?" Conner groaned. "You don't spend anytime with the lad, why would he want to spend time with you?"  
  
"Oh, so he decides to hang out with his tyrant of an uncle?"  
  
"He's not a tyrant!" Richie defended.  
  
"Richie, stay out of it."  
  
"No! Why do I have to stay out of it?"  
  
"Because we're tying to have an adult conversation."  
  
"Sounds like you're just gonna fight.again."  
  
"We are not fighting."  
  
"I didn't say you were; I said you were going to. And if it's just going to be about me, I don't see why I have to leave while you do it!"  
  
"He has a point, Duncan," Tessa put in. "He can hear us anyway."  
  
"I just think this is going to get a little nasty and I don't think he has to be involved."  
  
"He's not a child anymore! You should hear what all he has to say!"  
  
"He is a child! And he's my son and if I don't want him to hear this then he should leave! Richie, go to your room!"  
  
"No! I'm not a child and I'm not leaving! I'm sick of this!"  
  
"Richie, it's okay," Conner said calmly. "If you want to stay, stay. We'll all talk."  
  
"Actually, I want to talk to you in private," Duncan said fiercely, pointing at Conner.  
  
"Tessa, Richie, excuse us for a minute, please," Conner said politely.  
  
Tessa ushered Richie to his bedroom and there the pair stayed.  
  
"What do you think you're doing?" Duncan growled in Gaelic.  
  
"Taking care of your family," he answered.  
  
"I can take care of them just fine."  
  
"Really? Then why was that lad of yours so starved for a father's attention when he came to see me on vacation?"  
  
"What are you talking about?"  
  
"He kept expecting me to go to work. He nearly went into shock when I told him I had to whole week set aside for him. I moved here because Tessa thought it would be a good idea. He still needs a father to look after him and teach him what fathers are supposed to do. He's not getting that from you."  
  
"Conner, you know as well as I that he's not going to be a father."  
  
"Why not?" Conner challenged. "I was a father. You were for a while. And there's every possibility that he will never become one of us and he'll get married and he can adopt. But that's a long way away. You have other things to worry about right now."  
  
"Well, aren't you going to tell me what?" Duncan asked irritably.  
  
"He thinks that you and Tessa are going to get a divorce. He thinks you don't care about him. And I don't think he's far off on either point."  
  
"Of course I care about him. And Tessa and I are not getting divorced."  
  
"Only because she has other plans to try out once Richie is safe in New York. She's not ready to give up just yet. But she is mortal and isn't going to be around forever. Why you ever thought you could take her for granted.such a lovely, kind, nearly perfect woman.is beyond me. And Richie.well, he needs one of us he trust if the time comes and I'm not talking about clansmen."  
  
"I'm not taking them for granted!"  
  
"Oh really?" Conner asked. "When was the last time you spent time with them?"  
  
"I pick up Richie from physical therapy."  
  
"Before the accident."  
  
"We live in the same house."  
  
"But when have you spent time with them? Had dinner and didn't rush off to grade papers or something? Sat down with Richie and helped him with his schoolwork? Talked to Tessa about something other than Richie?"  
  
"Well, I haven't since you've been here! They're my family, not yours. I married Tessa and I adopted Richie. I love them; I've been working myself as hard as I can to provide all I can for them."  
  
"Are you so daft to think that to be a husband and father all you need to do is give them things? You were a better father before you were a father! You've never been married and you've never had a child. You obviously have no business doing either."  
  
Meanwhile in Richie's room.  
  
"What do you think they're saying?" Richie asked.  
  
"We have something we need to talk about," Tessa distracted him.  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"This summer when you move to New York, you know I'm not coming with you, right?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"I want to take Duncan to Paris. I'm not ready to give up on him completely."  
  
"But, Mom."  
  
"I'm not going to force you into anything. It's up to you how you handle your problems with Duncan. I just want you to know what the plan is so you aren't left out."  
  
"But.if you and Mac stay together and I don't wanna.what happens to you and me? I like having you for a mom."  
  
"Duncan and I aren't a matched set. You can have one without the other. I like being your mother and I want to keep it that way. But I also love Duncan and I know there is more to this problem than meets the eye."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Why what?"  
  
"Why would you stay with him after all he's done to us? You deserve better."  
  
"I might," she agreed. "But if there is a problem to fix, I want to fix it and then make my decision. Maybe he just wasn't ready for all the responsibility of a family."  
  
"Then why did he make himself part of one?"  
  
"I don't know. But I believe that Darius can help us find out."  
  
"That priest guy in Paris?"  
  
"Exactly. Would you be okay if we went?"  
  
"I'm going to be busy in the big city. I don't expect you to sit around just waiting for me to call or something. I'm an adult. Go."  
  
There was a knock at the door. And Duncan's muffled voice asked to speak to Richie.  
  
"Just talk to him," Tessa encouraged. "Nothing that happens with him will affect us." She got up and let him in before leaving herself.  
  
"What do you want?" Richie asked, flipping open a magazine from his bedside table.  
  
"To talk. Can you put that down?"  
  
"I should probably take Buddy out."  
  
"Conner can let him out. We need to talk."  
  
"What about?"  
  
"You and me."  
  
"What?"  
  
Duncan paused for a minute. "I'm sorry, Rich."  
  
"Wow, great talk. I'm glad we had this moment."  
  
"Would you stop being so rude for just a minute?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"I'm tying to apologize to you for what I've been doing."  
  
"Apologize?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"That's it? Just 'Gee, I'm sorry' and everything's supposed to be okay?"  
  
"Rich."  
  
"Well, that's not gonna cut it! You're nuts if you think I'm not pissed by all this!"  
  
"I want to make it up to you."  
  
"Make it up to me? Make it up to me! How the hell do you plan on doing that? You dropped off the face of the planet for no apparent reason. Totally ignore me unless you were yelling at me for just breathing. You have no clue what I'm in to. You show no interest! And 'I'm sorry' is supposed to make it all better? That's a load of crap!"  
  
"Richie, I know I haven't been around. I have no real excuse except I had no right to do that to you and your mother. It was horrible of me. I got distracted and thought I was doing the right thing when I wasn't. I'm not perfect and I don't pretend to be. I got so wrapped up in trying to give you things that I forgot what you really needed. Me. I ruined this last year; I know I did. And I'm sorry."  
  
"Apology accepted," Richie mumbled. "I have homework."  
  
"I don't believe you."  
  
"Well, what do you expect me to say?"  
  
"I'm sure you have plenty you want to say to me."  
  
"How about get lost?"  
  
"What else?"  
  
"That's it. Get lost."  
  
"Richie, it's pretty obvious that you're mad at me. You have to have more to say. Tell me how you're feeling."  
  
"Fine, you wanna know how I feel? Fine. I hate you. That's how I feel!"  
  
"Rich."  
  
"You're just like everyone else.only worse. At least with them I knew how they felt about me. I knew what they wanted from me. I knew what I had to do to make them pay attention to me. I knew what to do to make them happy. With you the only thing I could ever think of was to stay the hell away."  
  
"Richie, I."  
  
"But I don't care anymore. I got Mom and Uncle Conner and that's just fine with me. So you go back to your students and have fun with them. I'm all set."  
  
"You think you don't need me?" Duncan asked.  
  
"I know I don't. Look, I hear what you, Mom and Uncle Conner always yell about. And maybe I'm not like other kids. But because of that, I know how to move on. And I have. So you do your thing; I'll do mine and everything will be fine." He paused. "It's not like I'm going to be here much longer anyway."  
  
"New York?"  
  
"Yup. Right after graduation."  
  
"Richie. I'm sorry."  
  
"You said that."  
  
"And I mean it. I know that's not going to help anything."  
  
"Then why bother?"  
  
"Because I don't know what else to do! Richie, I know I screwed up. I messed up everything with you and your mother. I had no business trying to have a family. Obviously I'm not cut out to be a father or a husband."  
  
"I'm not going to disagree with you."  
  
"I'm not asking you to. All I'm trying to do is apologize."  
  
"Fine. You apologized. Your conscience is clear. Now, I have homework to do."  
  
"Do you need any help?"  
  
"Not from you."  
  
Duncan sighed. "You're still mad at me?"  
  
"Look, Mac, I know I owe you a lot. I owe Mom, too. But I think we're even. I don't have to play nice to you and you don't have to play nice to me. So stop bothering."  
  
"I'm not playing nice. I'm trying to get things back to the way they were."  
  
"Don't you get it, Mac? Things can never be the way they were. You ruined it! You didn't care about me and I don't care about you."  
  
"Richie, I do care."  
  
"It's too late for that! You ruined it! You ruined everything! Everything was supposed to be perfect when we moved here. And just so long as you weren't around it was. Everything was going fine with me and Mom and it only got better when Uncle Conner moved here. I'm all set. You have nothing to feel guilty about, so what's the big deal?"  
  
"The big deal is I let you down."  
  
"Don't worry about it."  
  
"It's not that easy, Richie. I care about you. I moved us here and did everything I did because I wanted to help you and give you what you never had."  
  
"And what is that?"  
  
"Stability. Security. A family."  
  
"I had that in Washington."  
  
"You didn't have security or stability. You had to keep changing who you were. You were always looking over your shoulder making sure no one could blow your cover."  
  
"Everything was fine in Washington."  
  
"Oh really? I seem to remember a certain incident that was not just fine."  
  
"Everything else was okay. I had friends and I was doing decent in school. Everyone was happy. Everyone got along."  
  
"But you were in danger."  
  
"But everything was. Everyone was happier."  
  
"We can be happy again. Just give me another chance."  
  
"I did. I gave you lots of chances. I asked you to help me with my book report. My history project. I asked you to come to my games. I tried to show you my paintings. I tried to get you interested in anything but it didn't work. I gave you your chances."  
  
"One more, Richie, I swear I won't let you down this time. Just talk to me. Let me back in."  
  
"I'll think about it."  
  
"That's all I want."  
  
A month later, Richie, Nathan, Ginger, and Shawna stood in the park posed and smiling in their caps and gowns. Their parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles snapped pictures. Richie had been very busy with physical therapy, exams, getting everything ready for New York and trying to work things out with Duncan.  
  
"Okay, lets get some with just Nathan and Shawna," someone's mom decided.  
  
Richie was still in a brace. Not the full leg one, the new one went from his thigh to his shin and he could hide it under his pants. His limp was still there, but it wasn't as noticeable as before.  
  
"Now Richie and Ginger."  
  
Richie had worked very hard on his schoolwork and ended up with a two point nine GPA. Tessa, Conner and Duncan were very proud of him. Richie was very proud as well. He had worked really hard and earned every last one of those points.  
  
"Just the girls."  
  
Richie and Duncan were on shaky ground. They got along okay, but each snapped rather easily. One minute they would be okay, the next one or the other had said or done something that set the other one off. Conner was trying to help them along and continually talked to Richie and reminded him how much it meant to Tessa that he and Duncan get along.  
  
"Just the boys."  
  
Tessa and Duncan had plans to go to Paris for the summer. They were going to take the time to work things out between them. They were even going to go to Duncan's good friend, a catholic priest named Darius.  
  
"Family pictures now."  
  
Everyone took turns taking pictures of the graduates and their families. Richie was moving in with Conner the same day Duncan and Tessa were going to Paris. They were all going to fly to New York where Duncan and Tessa would catch a connecting flight to Paris.  
  
"We better get going if we're going to get the kids to the ceremony on time."  
  
Everyone piled into cars and caravaned to the high school for graduation which was being held on the football field. Richie was toward the middle of his class in alphabetical order. He took a deep breath as his row got up to make their way to the stage that the tech theater students had built.  
  
"Jonathan Alexander Namin. Meredith Courtney Nasini. Richard Ryan Noel- MacLeod." Richie stood up straight as he walked to the middle of the stage to get his diploma from the principle.  
  
"Congratulations."  
  
Richie took the paper with one hand and shook the man's hand with the other. "Thank you." He could hear Tessa, Duncan, and Conner yelling over all the other noise. He spotted them in the crowd and smiled and waved. They waved back and beamed with pride.  
  
They went to one of the nicest restaurants in town to celebrate. Tessa had made Richie's favorite cake for dessert. They stayed up late talking and laughing just like old times. The next morning they made one last check before heading to the airport.  
  
Tessa fussed over Richie the entire flight to New York.  
  
"Are you sure you'll be okay on your own?" She asked for the fifth time.  
  
"I won't be alone, Mom. I'll be with Uncle Conner."  
  
"And don't give him any trouble."  
  
"I won't. I'll be busy with classes."  
  
"Oh, I'm so proud you."  
  
Once they landed there was just enough time for lunch before Duncan and Tessa's flight.  
  
"Be good," Tessa reminded Richie as their flight was called over the PA system.  
  
"I will."  
  
"Take care of him," she told Conner.  
  
"I will."  
  
"Richie, I hope that we can still talk even though we'll be in Paris. Come visit on breaks or maybe we'll come here. But I want to keep trying."  
  
"Okay, Mac."  
  
"And I want you to know that I'm proud of you. You couldn't do anything to make me more proud."  
  
"Thanks."  
  
"Last call for flight 259 to Paris, France."  
  
"We better go, Tess."  
  
"Be good, Richie," Tessa said once again giving him a strong hug,  
  
"I will, Mom."  
  
"And keep working on your art."  
  
"I will, Mom."  
  
"I'm going to miss you so much."  
  
"Me too."  
  
"I love you, Richie."  
  
"I love you, too, Mom." They let go. "Bye, Mac."  
  
"Good bye, Richie."  
  
Richie was top of his class at the conservatory. His art was continually bought at such high prices that after just a year he bought his own artist loft in Greenwich Village. By the time he was twenty-six, he had two pieces in the Museum of Modern Art. Both of which were on display with Tessa's sculptures. By the time he was thirty, the Noel's had their own room to display both of their artwork.  
  
At thirty two, Richie was killed when his building caught fire while he was painting on the roof. The fire started on the third floor and when it reached his loft his oil based paints caught fire and some of the unopened tubes and cans exploded. Richie went quickly. When he woke up and realized what had happened, he turned to Duncan for help. Richie and Duncan moved to rural England where they could train and Richie start over. He and Duncan bonded over training and became best friends.  
  
Tessa died nearly forty years later in her sleep. Conner was killed by another immortal one hundred and twelve years after that. Duncan and Richie are still looking for the immortal.  
  
AN: Okay, guys, that's it. The end. I'd like to take this time to thank each and every one of you for your support during my writer's block. Everyone had great suggestions and there was no way I could use them all, so please don't fell bad if your ideas weren't used. It all came down to which one I could write the best. I hope you all enjoyed this story even if it did get away for me and take on a life of its own. I think it turned out pretty okay and I hope you do, too. Once again THANK YOU TO ONE AND ALL FOR YOUR SUPPORT, REVIEWS AND IDEAS!!!! 


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